


COTILLION

by Queenoftheuniverse



Series: ALTER 'VERSE [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Choking, Drug Use, James Bond - Freeform, M/M, Male to male sexual acts of a highly pornographic nature, Multiple Personality Disorder, Q - Freeform, Religious Abuse, did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-06 07:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 38,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenoftheuniverse/pseuds/Queenoftheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Further adventures of Sherlock and John through the exciting, thrilling and scary world of Dissasociative Identidy Disorder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SNAGGED

COTILLION

CHAPTER ONE: SNAGGED

"Have I ever told you how much I enjoy crouching in filthy alleys behind stinking skip bins with you?" John asked Sherlock. Sherlock just smirked.

"I know our man is in the alley behind the church John. Do you have your gun?" He asked.

"Of course. But that alley is where lots of drug addicts go to shoot up. Will you be...okay?"

Sherlock turned his sloe eyes to John.

"Do you mean, will I see a bag of crack and give up you, my job, our life, everything, just to lick it? I can safely say no John. And we need this man to confess so we can arrest DeAngelo."

"Okay, smart arse."

"Got your breath back?"

"Sure, let's go."

John once again found himself sprinting through a filthy alley, misty rain in his eyes, blindly following his best friend, soul mate and brilliant sex partner into the night. Sherlocks legs were longer and he had a rats knowledge of London. John soon found himself lagging behind. He lost sight of Sherlocks flapping coat and got his partners bearings hearing only his running footsteps.

"John, I have him!" Sherlocks voice came from a long way away. John slowed down, gun in both his hands. He twisted around. All the alleys here looked the same. Dirty, wet, smelly. Here and there were mattresses and foam, some with huddled bodies on, some with garbage, food wrappings, rat shit, and little baggies.

Drug addicts detritus.

"Sherlock, where are you?" John called. He heard scuffling. 

"John, for the love of Christ, help me!"

He spun on his heels, and took off, following Sherlocks cries.

He found his partner flat out on top of a struggling man, pinning him to the disgusting alley floor, arms held against his back.

The man cursed and writhed, but Sherlock had him pinned. He was trying to get his not-entirely-legal-okay-maybe-stolen-from-Lestrades handcuffs out, but the man was making it hard.

John stepped on the mans neck and pointed the gun, cocking it.

"Stop moving." John demanded and the man froze. Sherlock managed to cuff him then, and drag him to sit against the wall, panting.

Sherlock dusted his hands and said:

"Nice of you to join me John."

"These alleys are rat warrens." John said, still aiming the gun at the man, who really wasn't going anywhere. 

Sherlock was texting Lestrade.

"One more drug dealer off the street." he said as he did so.

He was suddenly aware that John was not by his side. He was on the other side of the alley, staring down at a sleeping body. His eyes shone unnaturally white in the neon sign of the Church Of Salvation hovering high above them over the back entrance to the church.

"John...?"

"No." he said calmly. 

"No...John, you okay?" Sherlock kept an eye on his prisoner and his friend.

John made a strange sound and suddenly clapped his hands over his ears, the gun pressing sideways into his head.

"NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!" He screamed, making Sherlock and the prisoner both jump.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" The prisoner cried out.

"John...calm down!" Sherlock said, but John was insensible. He whirled around, to stare at Sherlock, the again at the sleeping crack head, and then he took off running.

Sherlock could not chase him, he couldn't leave his prisoner. Lestrade was coming.

"He is fucking nuts mate." The man commented. Sherlock ignored him, staring down the alley where John had run.

He wasn't sure he had ever seen this side of John before. John had survived horrific childhood abuses and a terrifying tour in Afghanistan, but not unscathed. His personality had split into 6 parts, leaving him suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. The last month had been spent getting used to a boyfriend who was shattered but still functioned perfectly despite this.

But this one, this Alter that ran screaming down the alley, Sherlock did not recognise.

He just had to trust that this Alter was protecting John from something. Something to do with the alley, the body. It had been hard for Sherlock to realise that simple fact at first. The Alters always looked after TheBody.

But he was scared just the same.

What was John running from, and what to?

#

John crouched in the abandoned warehouse, heart thumping.

How did he get here?

One minute he was staring at the sleeping man, the next he was here. With his gun. No Sherlock.

What had he done? Where had he gone?

On the ground in front of him was a brown paper bag.

He extended a shaking hand, picked it up as if a mongoose was about to burst from it. He brought it to his face, peered in.

"Oh God..." he whispered.

New syringes, a tourniquet and a bag of white powder...

"No no no..oh no, not again!!" he whimpered, but clutched the bag to his forehead.

Then his eyes glazed and he brought the bag back down. 

Then, with calm assurance, he tipped the contents out, laid his gun down, and began to roll up his sleeve.

#


	2. JUST SAY NO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when we thought poor Johns terible past had all been revealed, we learn...there is more...just a little bit more. :(

COTILLION

CHAPTER TWO: JUST SAY NO

AlterBoy swayed on its feet. 

Yes yes, this was home, this was the door...he opened it, stumbled inside to brightness and warmness, safety and a warm chest that smelled good.

"Sir...."

#

"Oh God, John..." Sherlock murmured, catching the Doctor as he stumbled in the front door. "Where have you been?"

"Sherlock, Sherlock..my veins are salty."

"I am sure they are." Sherlock said, having no idea what John meant. He helped John to the sofa, removing his jacket. He felt something heavy and removed Johns gun. The safety was on, so Sherlock stashed it back inside the jacket. His hands hit something else. He dragged out a brown paper bag.

John was staring out at nothing. Strangely his hands looked like they were...maybe praying? 

Sherlock brought out the paper bag. He held it. His hands trembled. He recognised the shapes. Syringe. Lighter. Oh god...

"John..."

"AlterBoy" 

"AlterBoy...." Sherlock whispered huskily. (Don't overreact don't overreact) " What....did you do?"

"I am nearly ready Sir."

"Ready for what...AlterBoy, ready for what...?"

Sherlock put the jacket and the paper bag on the coffee table and sat next to AlterBoy. AlterBoy looked at Sherlock with dead eyes. Sherlock felt Ill.

"Here...." AlterBoy lifted his wrists, pressed together, tender underside up and presented them to Sherlock. They were clean, white, with thick purple veins bulging through the skin. Odd little scars littered them, Sherlock assumed from when he self cut as a teenager. 

AlterBoy shook for a minute, then took in a deep breath, steadying himself. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, whimpered a very very small noise and was silent, stock still, waiting.

"I don't know what I must do AlterBoy."

Sherlock paused. AlterBoy said nothing. Sherlock gently slid the sleeves of AlterBoys shirt up his arms. His breath caught. Around his right bicep was a red indentation and in the crook of his elbow, an angry red hole, scabbed over, already bruised.

"No..." Sherlock choked. "Fuck no John...." 

Sherlock gently caressed his long fingers down AlterBoys arms, leaning his forehead into his shoulder, emotion crowding his head. 

AlterBoy whimpered, and it was in fear.

Sherlock moved AlterBoys head down by the chin to look into his face. He looked stressed. He was frowning and almost trembling.

"Open your eyes." Sherlock whispered. AlterBoy shook his head.

"I am not allowed to watch."

"AlterBoy, I allow it. Come on, open your eyes."

"Are you...tricking me Sir?"

"I am not Sir, I am Sherlock. Please, open your eyes."

AlterBoy bit his bottom lip, then cautiously opened his eyes. He braced himself, but when no blow came, he relaxed.

"Do you want me to do it ?" he asked.

Sherlock paused. He would like to know about this new Alter but would it be right to experiment, to push a bit?

He said gently:

"Yes, AlterBoy, you do it."

AlterBoy immediately raised one of his wrists to his mouth and began to worry it with his teeth. Sherlock gasped and snatched AlterBoys wrist from his mouth, dragging it away. There was saliva, and nasty red marks. These lined up with the other strange scars on his wrists. 

"No, AlterBoy, I changed my mind." Sherlock said, voice shaky. He wiped the spit off AlterBoys wrist with his own sleeve, gently.

"No blood to tonight Sir?"

"No blood."

"The other?"

"No. Not the other." Sherlock learned his lesson. What the hell would The Other be? 

"Then...what..?" AlterBoy looked confused.

"I need Hamish. Can I speak to Hamish? Sherlock asked, a bit desperately. "Please Hamish, speak to me...."

AlterBoy stared at Sherlock, his eyes still dead. 

Then they closed, he slumped, and Hamish appeared. He sat up, straight away, crossed his arm over himself and put the fingers of his other hand to his mouth.

"Sherlock..." he nodded.

Sherlock looked at the handsome man before him. Damn, the man made his heart do a weird tripping. The night they spent in front of a fire in The Fens was still one of Sherlocks favourite memories of recent times. 

"Did you make AlterBoy?" Sherlock asked gently. Hamish looked a little confused.

"AlterBoy? He went a long time ago. There was no need to have him after Father Wade died."

"Who was Father Wade?" Sherlock asked.

Hamish stared at Sherlock.

"If AlterBoy is back you better look out for Meth, and the other one, the shadow one."

"Meth? You mean the drug?"

"The Alter. Sherlock...this is worrying..."

"I may have met Meth, briefly, today. He ran off after I made a bust. It was in an alley notorious for drug addicts. John was worried about me, with my history...perhaps I should have been worried about him...because he got cocaine from somewhere and shot up..."

"No...I..."

"Did you not know?"

"Sherlock I am sorry, but if these three are back we are going into a darker part of TheBodys past. I closed the door and I don't want to open it."

"Noooo Hamish, darker than his abuse, the death of Jack, Afghanistan? Please tell me that's not true!" Sherlock begged.

"Sherlock...I'm sorry..I really am..." Hamish whispered, frightened, and he was gone.

"Hamish! No, come back!" Sherlock grabbed his friends shoulders and shook him.

John slumped against Sherlock with a groaned.

"Someone get the number of the truck that hit me..."

"John..."

"Sherlock...what happened?" John moaned, holding his head. "I feel really weird..."

"It may be your Alters making you run everywhere tonight..." Sherlock said, then brought John in tight for a close hug. "Or it could be the cocaine your Alter jabbed into your vein."

John froze. 

"Sherlock?" he asked in a small voice. "Please tell me you are joking...."

"I am sorry John, but that would not be at all funny." Sherlock sighed. "Looks like there is more hell we have to go through love."

"Well, I refuse." John said. "I fucking refuse."

Sherlock held onto John close and thought the same.

Somehow he doubted they could just say no.

#


	3. HORSIE RIDES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get a new assignment.

COTILLION 

CHAPTER 3: HORSIE RIDES

Sherlock held John close that night, safe in his bed. 

To say he had been discombobulated by the revelation of at least three new alters would be a massive understatement.

The one called Meth was a worry because of the drugs. Sure, Meth took them, but it was Johns body that suffered. And then there was the whole addiction problem, which Sherlock knew only too well from first hand experience. Meth himself may be addicted, but John was not, and yet it would be Johns body that would physically suffer any affects the cocaine, and withdrawal, would have.

The one called AlterBoy was of great concern as well. Wanting to give Sir his blood, what was that about, and then...The Other, what else could he give, or do, to Sir? Sherlocks imagination went unpleasant places. Very unpleasant places. TheFuryandTheFear had only said DA had not molested him sexually.

Then there was the shadowy one that Hamish mentioned. Who in the hell was that? Shades and shadows represented demons mostly. Was this Alter really scary...did he even want to meet him?

And underneath all these thoughts was...why now? They had gone through so much with the other Alters, why did these new ones need to appear now? 

John had alluded to times as a child where he blacked out and had no memories. He had assumed it was from beatings or starvation, but what if it was from being an Alter, and more than the ones they had already met. SleepingJohn, UnderJohn, TheFuryandtTheFear, Hamish, Robin and Flirt.

Sherlock got very little sleep, but John slept quite well, if a little twitchy. Sherlock kept his arms around him for safety however.

Morning found John and Sherlock strolling into New Scotland Yard.

Anderson snarled and glared at them, having still not forgiven John for rejecting him and Sherlock for punching him. He never really liked Sherlock from the beginning, called him Freak. 

Now he added an 's'. 

"Freaks..."

Sherlock and John were shown into Lestrades office. John desperately needed a tea, his head was killing him, and Sherlock refused to allow him any pain relief "Just in case." John thought Sherlock was being overly cautious, but he bowed to his superior knowledge in coming down of fucking cocaine. 

The fact that John was a doctor seemed to have been deleted from Sherlocks stupid Hard fucking Drive.

"Well done on getting your man yesterday Sherlock. Another bastard in the ring stopped for good." Lestarde opened with.

"Do we get to investigate the church now?" Sherlock asked.

"Hold your horses. Yes, it seems that the Church of Salvation has something to do with this particular ring."

"Good, so we can-"

Lestrade held up a hand.

"The church is having a fete this Saturday. You can go then."

"A fete?" Sherlock spat.

"Yeah, toffee apples, horsie rides, bobbing for apples. It will be fun." John deadpanned.

"Horsie rides...?" Sherlock echoed.

"Only if you're a good boy."

"Leaves him out then." Greg snorted, earning a look from Sherlock. "John, I need you to be a hopeful new parishioner, get talking to..." Lestrade shuffled papers on his desk. "a...Father Eden"

"That's his name?" John snorted.

"His real one, I checked and everything" Greg said in a false eager voice.

"And Sherlock, try and get into the church itself, find out of there is a basement or something, where they make, distribute, anything that has anything to do with drugs and or trafficking."

"I think I know my job Lestrade, I did bring this ring to your notice."

Lestrade snorted.

"Alright, get out of my sight you two no-hopers. John, drinks tonight?"

"Yep, it's Thursday."

"Go, go on, and leave Anderson alone!"

Leaving New Scotland Yard Sherlock stepped out to hail a cab. While they were waiting, a voice behind John said;

"Hello Doctor Watson, still running about then?"

It was Dimock in his one size too large suit and earnest look. He was just finishing off a cigarette.

"Oh hey..ah..Detective Dimock. Yeah, Sherlocks' non stop."

"Still, must be fun."

"Sometimes...yeah..listen, you busy tonight?"

"Not especially."

"Greg and I get together every Thursday for drinks, you are welcome to join us."

"Oh hey, that would be nice. Does Sherlock..." Dimock looked over to where Sherlock was staring out at the road, waiting for a cab to come some could hail it. Sherlock intimidated the heck out of Dimock but he still respected him, in a strange way.

"Er, no, not often." John answered his unvoiced question.

"Good, well, lovely, I'll be there."

"See you tonight."

John jogged over and slid into the cab. Sherlock eyed him off.

"Flirting with the good detective?"

"Invited him to drinks..." John said then crinkled a smile. "So, maybe, yeah!"

"John...." Sherlock growled, remembering when Flirt tried to Flirt his way into Dimocks panties.

"Sherlock, you are the only detective for me." John laughed and kissed his beautiful boyfriend on the cheek.

Sherlock hurumphed, but he was secretly pleased.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone know Dimocks first name?


	4. CRUEL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His name is Mark until we find out his real name, K?
> 
> Anyway, Flirt turns up....

COTILLION

CHAPTER 4: CRUEL

The night started well but they all made a serious mistake.

They started drinking spirits instead of sticking to beer.

Lestrade was in his most hilarious form with his 'drunks in the cells' stories from early on in his police career, and Mark had many of his own similar tales of vomit and stupidity. 

One of his, about a person running after his car which he convinced had a ghost driving it but he had just left the handbrake off, had them in stitches for minutes. 

Johns "suspicious X-Ray" tales were enough to result in dirty childish snickering for ages.

"You know I don't care how he got the matchbox car got up your arse, but be honest....tripped and FELL???" John laughed and Greg nearly snorted rum and coke from his nose.

"I need a ciggy..." Mark said then, wobbling up from the table.

"I will join you."John offered."Need air!"

"I gotta drain the...sump oil!" Greg guffawed, and they all fell about again for quite some time.

In the alley beside the pub, where it was okay to light up as long as a roving beat cop did not catch you, Dimock lit a cigarette and breathed in deeply, lit end flaring in the yellow light. He settled against the wall, not trusting his legs to hold him up.

"I have not had this much fun in ages!" He said, blowing the smoke from his lungs, away from Watson who he knew was not a smoker. Still, it was nice to have the company.

"Greg's a git when he's had a few." John said. "Unlike myself, who is the epitome of decorum at all times.." and he snorted, rather letting himself and his self image down.

"Last time I was out I had twelve beers, danced around a pole, and then I think some sort of glue was involved...."

John giggled. Actually giggled. The sound was so un John-like that Dimock stared in surprise. John smiled back, coyly. 

Dimocks breath caught. Well, that look was different. Was there promise in those glittering eyes?

John moved closer, grabbed one of Dimocks lapels and gently pressed his lips to the frankly surprised Detectives mouth. All protests went sideways when John began to kiss him, insistently. Not roughly, but it sure as fuck was not nicely either.

God, how long had it been since Mark had felt another mans lips on him? University, at least. Those heady days of experimentation and open minds. And he had forgotten quite how awesome it was, and this was John Fucking Watson, the secret sex symbol of New Scotland Yard, kissing him and now...dear God, with tongue?!

He responded with his own lips and tongue, arms frozen, cigarette burning, forgotten, smoke lazily raising. John kissed him wetly but with a need that made Mark feel wanted. Made him feel sexy again, not jaded as he was afraid he was becoming.

He could not help the moan that rumbled quietly in his throat. And even though he kinda knew Sherlock and John were an item, he happily submitted to Johns mouth. Maybe they had an open relationship-

"...just out here Sherlock, Dimock needed a cigarette..." came Lestrades wobbly too drunk voice. "Oh shit..."

Dimock froze, and tried to get away from Johns lips but John held him in close, pressing his ex-army body into Marks, making it impossible to move away, and anyway, Johns kisses were wonderfully heady. He didn't really want to go.

There was a gruff sound and suddenly John was pulled from him. Dimock protected his head against blows but it was not HE that Sherlock was attacking, but John.

Three really hard open hand slaps had Johns head snapping sideways and Greg putting his hand to Sherlocks shoulder. Sherlock shook it off.

Sherlock was staring fiercely into Johns eyes. John was smiling coyly, teasingly, and Dimock was way beyond confused.

"Hit me again Sherlock, you know I like it rough." John said, breathlessly.

"Flirt!" Sherlock spat, but it sounded more than an accusation.

"Yes, my darling?"

"I said...I told you..." was the great Sherlock Holmes stuttering? "Flirt, you cannot come on to...my work colleagues..."

"Why not, you won't fuck me."

"Flirt! Please, just stop. This is....cruel."

"To you, Great Asexual Sherlock Its-Just-Transport-unless-its-John-Watson Holmes? Yes, then, I agree. It is cruel. But what does a boy have to do to get you to notice him? If I have to be cruel Sherlock I will, I need you!"

"You don't need me, you want anyone!" 

"Who's being cruel now, Sherlock?" Flirt whispered, eyes large and twinkling.

"Home. Now." John was pushed from the alley roughly in front of Sherlock, past an awkward Lestarde and around the corner.

"erm...finish your cigarette Mark..." Greg suggested. "And this did NOT happen...."

Dimock shakily took in a really long drag and wondered if a nice decimated corpse could turn up, just to take the memory of Johns beautiful lips off his mind.

#


	5. FLIRT BECOMES IRRISISTABLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock FINALLY give in to his basest desires for Flirt.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 5: FLIRT BECOMES IRRISISTABLE

Throwing Flirt into the lounge room of 221b was oddly satisfying for Sherlock. The way he stumbled and tried to catch his footing, the way, when he did, he turned to face Sherlock like he was actually a danger, the way his coy smile was just a little bit guarded.

"Oh Sherlock, just give in to me, you know you want me." Flirt purred, running a flat hand up the grey T-shirt John had put on before he went out. When the hand reached the flat planes of his pectorals he paused, and let his tongue come out a little.

"Stop it, just stop it!" Sherlock spat, crossing the room and gripping Flirt by the back of his neck. 

"Ngggghh, yes, hurt me..." Flirt said, turning his pretty eyes to Sherlock. Sherlocks anger drained, straight to his cock. It thickened treacherously. Flirt was a brat but a brat in Johns body, and Johns body did things to Sherlock.

"God knows I want to...." Sherlock whispered, pressing his forehead to Flirts and running one gloved finger down Flirts front. "God knows I want to hurt you Flirt, you infuriating fuck of a man...."

"Then...please...now?"

"I can't." Sherlock whispered. "It's not good for you...it is...rewarding bad behaviour..."

"I am not a child!"

"You may as well be, you have simple needs and you want them met now...."

Sherlocks gloved thumb rubbed over Flirts hard nipple, over the cloth of his T-shirt. Flirt shivered.

"....and you tantrum when you don't get it."

"I don't-"

"Then what was that with Dimock tonight?"

"He is very cute."

"You marched in to take him, without even wondering what would happen to him."

"Kiss me, please." Flirt said, leaning into Sherlock.

"I can't." Sherlock said, and reluctantly moved off Flirt, stepped away, got his hands off his hot little body. "I can't encourage you!"

"Sherlock...pleeeese...I promise to be good for you."

"For how long? How long before I am not worried to leave you alone near any single hot policemen? How long will you behave for? A week? A month?..." he stepped forward again, this time putting his gloved thumb to Flirts luscious bottom lip. "...an hour..?"

"Please..." Flirt whispered.

With a growl Sherlock threw Flirt onto the sofa and followed, smashing his lips into Flirts mouth before Flirt could use his Flirty voice anymore. He pinned the smaller man to the couch with his larger body.

"I knew when I followed you tonight you would try something you little whore, I just knew it." he said roughly into Flirts mouth. Flirt moaned. Dirty talk did things to him, wet wiggly things.

"I need-" he started but Sherlock stole his words with a deep and painful kiss.

"I know what you need you little bitch." 

Sherlock was not gentle. His teeth were everywhere, and he dragged Flirts clothes from him with no care as to how Flirts arms bent or how precious the clothes were to John. 

When Flirt was topless Sherlock pulled mouthfuls of tender nipple and the muscle around it into his mouth, lapping at the nub as it rose, swelling under the pressure, deep inside him. Flirt moaned like a whore, losing his mind. Sherlock had dirty ideas!

And those gloved hands on his skin, so impersonal. 

Flirts jeans were roughly slipped from his body, shoes, socks, pants, quickly and with a nasty efficiency. Sherlock stopped to bite at tender skin, or suck it, and those gloves, all over his skin, Flirt couldn't see properly.

"Sherrrrrrlocccckkk..." Flirt gasped, and Sherlocks lips assaulted his mouth again, gloves dragging through his hair. 

"Stop using my name!" Sherlock said desperately. "Stop it!"

He bit Flirts lips, actually BIT them and Flirts cock swelled harder than it had ever been before. "Oh my G-" he started to moan, but then Sherlocks gloved hand covered his mouth and he nearly came,right then, under Sherlock hips. His moaning became debauched, muffled as they were, he felt the freedom to really let loose. His eyes rolled and his skin trembled.

And then, to add to his overdosing-on-lust-bunnies brain, Sherlock lifted himself, grabbed Flirts cock in his other gloved hand, and began to jerk him off, fast, not gentle.

It was hopeless.

He was coming in three strokes. 

But then Sherlock changed the gagging hand to close around his neck, choking him gently. His orgasm heightened and he was screaming in lust.

Then those screams turned to whimpers and fear as Flirt disappeared and AlterBoy was back.

#


	6. HOMOEROTIC UNDERTONES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock do the disguise thing

COTILLION

CHAPTER 6: HOMOEROTIC UNDERTONES

AlterBoy did not stay long. 

He whimpered for a little while, and Sherlock held him, but soon John was back.

"I tied one on didn't I, damn Lestrade and his 'Lets have rum, just this once'." he groaned, leaning into Sherlocks warm body.

"You are a funny drunk." Sherlock said.

"Yeah, I bet. Did I fall? My mouth hurts. Why am I naked?" 

"Let's get you in a shower and into bed." Sherlock said, and John did as he was told. 

Sherlock only felt a tiny bit guilty.

Okay, a lot guilty.

But hopefully Flirt had been satiated and would find no need to come out again.

Unless Moriarty escaped again which, touch wood, he had not done so far....

Friday found Dr Watson doing three hours at the clinic and Sherlock studying the different nose shapes in South American cave dwelling bats, like ya do.

John got a strange phone call from Mark Dimock about Thursday night but he figured the detective had been just as drunk as the rest of them with talk of alleys and Sherlock. Besides, Mrs Williams had the most ingrown planters wart he had ever seen and it quite distracted him.

Saturday found the pair disguising up.

Sherlock wore black jeans and a black hoody. He flattened his hair as much as he could and tied it back in a pony tail. He looked like a bit of rough and John may have drooled a bit, imagining having the hoodlum savagely pressing him into a wall in a dirty alley to have his way wicked with poor little him....

Hopefully he looked enough like a drug addict to not be noticed around the church.

John put on slacks and dress shoes, a blue and white stripy business shirt and a green woollen vest. He added thin wire glasses and slicked his hair in a neat style. Respectable man looking earnestly for God.

Sherlock was practically drooling. HE had a thing for shy librarians....

When they got to the fete they searched for Father Eden. They soon found him talking to a gaggle of ladies at the cake stall.

"Oh my...." John commented, before he could contain himself. "He looks like the guy who plays Castiel the Angel on Supernatural."

Sherlock looked blank beneath his hoodie.

"It's a show. He and Dean have this homoerotic undertone thing going on." John explained quickly.

"Pft, who would put something like that in a series, would that even work?"

"Works for me."

"John, do you have a cherub kink?"

"Absolutely not!"John sniffed "I have a manly shirtless angel kink, thank you very much!"

They split up then to go their separate ways to do their separate investigations.

#

Sherlock slipped into the church while Father Eden was chatting the nice librarian. He walked with quiet confidence to the Altar and turned right. He found Father Eden's office and other offices. The cleaning cupboard was locked, as was a book depository but one door led to stairs.

Looking quickly around himself he brought out his pen light, and slipped behind the door, clicking it quietly shut behind him. He slowly descended the stairs, dragging the hood from his face to have a better view.

The stairs were old and made of stone. There were disused sconce holes and lots of dusty flappy webs, indicating a breeze from somewhere. The further down he went the colder it got, but no sounds came from anywhere.

Finally he reached an ancient wooden door held in place by enormous brass fittings. He tried the door and it was locked.

From the back pocket of his hoodlum jeans Sherlock dragged out his lock picking kit. He put the pen light into his mouth, pointing it at the ancient lock. This lock was obviously broken from centuries of use. No, it was the modern lock Sherlock was interested in.

He crouched down, inserted the thin lock picking tools and began to click about....

#

John introduced himself to Father Eden. 

"Hello Father, I am new to the parish, just wanted to introduce myself." he said. "My names John."

He chose John because it suited his disguise and there were already so many names inside John adding one more would confuse everybody, and maybe be a bit sensationalist.

The priest shook Johns hand.

"Father Branwen Eden, pleased to meet you." he said, in a Londoners accent. His handshake was sturdy, warm, and he had the bluest of blue eyes. His hair was black and thick and artfully ruffling in the brisk wind. "What bring you to my little corner parish John?"

"I got transferred here from the country. I'm a librarian." John said, as Fr. Eden smiled and waved to some ladies passing. "I was just seeking a path when I was transferred Father and I was wondering if you had some time to talk to me about...well, God, and Jesus."

The Father looked into Johns earnest face, and nodded.

"What sort of questions do you have?"

"The big one. What is all this?" John frowned, waving his hands around. "Why am I here, and...how does one...let go, and have faith?"

"My, those can't be answered over a cup of tea and biscuits." Eden kept smiling. He lifted his arm, smoothed up the sleeve of his cossack and looked at his watch. "Give me a few minutes here John, then would you like to come into my office for a chat?"

Well, that was easy...

"I would love to, thank you, if you are not too busy."

"No, I have plenty of time for something this important. Let me just get Phoebe to get some tea and biscuits ready, even if it DOES takes us longer than a cup to sort the big questions out."

Father Eden popped over to the cake stall and asked a middle aged lady with red hair to make a pot of tea for himself and John, who needed some time with him in his office.

In fifteen minutes Eden and John were in Father Eden's warm office. Phoebe came in with a tray tea things, and left, leaving the door open which was policy now.

"So, John, ask away.."

Suddenly a door slammed open and a black hooded figure was being roughly man handled by a larger man past the door. John recognised the hoodie clad shape and his brain went into over drive.

"Skylar!!" he called, honest to God, the first name he could think of. 

Sherlocks white shocked face turned to John and John could see the detectives brain also ticking over.

"Oh....hello Uncle John..."

John stood up and roared:

"What the hell have you done now????"

#


	7. I'LL GO WHERE YOU WANT ME TO GO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy thinking and a surprisingly unrough make out session.
> 
> The name of this chapter is from a Latter Day Saint hymn I like :)

COTILLION

CHAPTER 7: I'LL GO WHERE YOU WANT ME TO GO

Sherlock was dragged inelegantly into Fr Eden's room and deposited there. The huge man then stood in the door way, arms crossed.

"Found him down the basement." he rumbled.

"I wasn't doing anything, I swear Uncle John, just looking!"

"Uh huh." John said, in a disbelieving tone. He turned to Fr Eden and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I am so sorry Father, this is Skylar, my sisters child. Half the reason I came here was so he could live with me. He is..." he sighed dramatically, but not TOO dramatically. 

"God, say it Uncle John, I am a filthy junkie."

"I didn't say filthy!" John said.

"It was implied."

"See Father? IQ nearly off the scale and he wants to bury himself in drugs!"

Skylar snorted.

"How long have you been an addict son?" Father Eden asked as Sherlock turned his back to look at the books in Fr. Eden's bookshelf.

"Skylar, answer him!" John snapped.

"Been on pot since I was seventeen, ecstasy on and off for about as long, hard stuff two years."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty three."

John almost smiled. He COULD knock ten years off his age and get away with it, the pretty bastard!

"John, I run a rehab on the premises."

"Ohhhh, drug REHAB!" Sherlock moaned and smacked his head "Stupid stupid, Rat said you had drugs here...which i was of course looking for to hand in to the local authorities Uncle John!" he looked with big innocent eyes at John, who set his mouth hard.

"Idiot!" he snapped.

"We could pull a few strings, get him in if you like."

"What will it cost?"  
"It is a two week course at one thousand pounds I am afraid."

A thousand pounds? Nice work of you could get it thought John but he merely nodded.

"Okay, and when does it start?"

"Monday. Here, I have some forms you can take with you to fill out." 

Fr.Eden shuffled through his drawers and pulled out a pamphlet and some forms.

"I am really sorry." John said then.

"I am sorry we couldn't have a talk. Perhaps after rehab on Monday, we could have a chat? You must still have a lot of burning questions."

"That would be wonderful Father." John said, sliding his glasses up his nose again. He roughly grabbed Sherlocks hoodie and guided him past the gigantor at the door and out of the church.

"What were you doing?" John hissed.

"John, I don't know what I found but it is creepy. I need to think for a while, then I will be able to tell you more."

"Fine."

"Oh, and Fr Eden has a crush on you."

John didn't know why but the thought of Fr. Eden looking at him with any sort of....WANT, made him feel removed from reality and put into somewhere a bit not good.

#

Sitting at the kitchen table back at home, still in their disguises, with a hot cup of tea each, Sherlock had tented his fingers and was deep in thought. 

John, too, was deep in thought. He was still waiting for praise for his quick thinking back at The Church of Salvation but he quickly realised hell would be a great place to ski before that would happen. So he just praised himself.

He was also thinking about Fr. Eden. It was all very well likening him to a character he had a star crush on, but for Sherlock to just toss in "Oh yes, he wants to get in your panties" like that was too much. A man of the cloth, who most likely frowned on people who were gay for each other, who was a possibly part of a drug ring, and certainly on the radar of the investigators, not to mention that John already had the absolute love of his life right here at the kitchen table...

It was all so wrong. Made him feel Ill.

He was tired so he went to remove his fake glasses but then Sherlock said "Don't."

"Hm. Why?" John asked distractedly. 

"I like them on you." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock Holmes you dark horse." John chuckled. "Do you have a thing for shy Librarians?"

"Like you have a thing for a bit of rough" Sherlock grinned. Johns grin matched his.

"And here we are, both dressed as the others fantasy." John commented. "Whatever shall we do?"

"Depends....what do you WANT to do?"

"I am a meek little Librarian and you are a big rough hoodlum." John batted his eyelashes dramatically. "I think you could pretty much do whatever you wanted with me."

Sherlock launched himself off his chair. It fell over with a smack. He dragged John out of his chair by one upper arm, and flung him round and backed him into a wall. He sneered at Johns shocked face and looked over him lecherously. 

"Uh...." John said, and swallowed nervously.

"Mm, tasty..." Sherlock licked his lips letcherously. He then whipped Johns glasses off, flung them on the couch and slammed his body forcefully into Johns, covering the smaller man with his whole self. "Mmmmm, nice..."

"Please stop..." John squeaked as Sherlock ran his hands up under Johns shirt and his lips over Johns mouth.

"Hushhhhh..."

"You're scaring me.."

"Good..."

Sherlock pressed his lips eagerly into Johns and John whimpered. He tried not to succumb but the heat of Sherlocks body and his pretty lips soon had John moaning and pushing his hips into him. Sherlock pulled his hands out from under Johns shirt and placed them on Johns head. He tilted it, and kissed him deeper, slipping his tongue inside Johns mouth forcefully.

Johns hands slid up and grabbed at the hoodie around Sherlocks waist, as Sherlock undulated his hips in a parody of a very intimate sex act. Poor Johns face went red but he didn't even try to pull away. The kissing was nice, and having Sherlock dressed like this, and he all neat and square...the differences were exciting as fuck.

Sherlock nosed under his chin and John let his head fall back. Tiny kisses and sucks assaulted his throat and John found himself on a rather shaky verge of begging for something harder, more painful. He bit his lip to stop those desperate pleas from falling from his mouth but he did whimper quite a bit.

Sherlock was maddeningly teasing him, moving minutely over every inch of skin on Johns neck. Tiny nips and kisses, hot breath and little moans. It was exquisitely torturous but so good!

Resisting him was futile and he was falling inside himself, blissfully aware of his heavy cock and his thundering heart.

"God Sherlock...." he breathed, completely undone. He had expected a violent yet fun romp and instead got teasing kisses and hot tongue.Sherlock responded by using his hand on Johns chin to turn his head and using his teeth on the tender part just under his jaw. John shivered, feeling warm all the way to his curling toes.

"Sherlock..." he sighed again.

"John, my John, I love you."

"...silly...." John laughed a small laugh.

What had started as fun and games ended that night with hours of languid kissing against walls and on chairs, and over sofas and finally, in bed.

"Sherlock, you take me on very strange journeys." John said later.

"Doctor Watson, I only go where you lead."

#


	8. METHOD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skylar goes to rehab.
> 
> Bonus points for those who spot the Python reference!

COTILLION 

CHAPTER 8: METHOD

During the night Sherlock got to watch AlterBoy in action again. 

It was late, and the moon was coming in the window. They had once again fallen asleep together in a tangle of limbs, but at some stage Sherlock felt John move out of the bed. 

The detective watched his blogger with careful eyes, not moving.

Silently, the Alter went through his set motions, almost like dancing, but they were ritualistic movements, never deviating.

Sherlock noticed he moved in a cross shape. At each section of the cross there was some kneeling, some silent prayer where his lips moved. At every arm of the cross his own arm would be thrust out to the side. He waited like this, head bowed, before some silent inner signal and he would move again.

Nothing Sherlock had ever seen was like this ritual, and he had studied a few in his time. Cults fascinated him, as did the cult mentality, and what AlterBoy displayed seemed to be very cult like. 

Whomever this Sir was had taught AlterBoy his movements well.

In the end, in the centre of the cross, John sat on his knees, very still, and pushed out his scarred wrists as if receiving handcuffs. His head seemed to become too heavy for his neck and it dropped back, baring his throat to the moonlight.

Sherlock already knew at this stage there would be bloodletting and....The Other, which Sherlock honestly did not want to know. No matter how fascinated he was in cults, AlterBoy was, at heart, his John.

After an allotted time AlterBoy seemed to become aware of himself. He stood quietly up, rubbing the back of his neck, confused.

Ah, it was John then.

John moved back to the bed and slid in next to Sherlock who wrapped his arms around him and kissed the top of his head.

No need for platitudes, John was already back to sleep.

Sherlock had to admit, the whole thing creeped him the fuck out.

#

Sunday was spent in quiet contemplation. 

Sherlock still had a bit of thinking to do about what he had found at the church basement and Watson was catching up on some medical reading.

"Planters Warts and the new Aloe Treatment. Lovely detailed pictures John." Sherlock commented.

"This from a man with dog lungs in the freezer."

They went to Speedys Café together for afternoon tea and it was pleasant.

Mycroft popped around late afternoon and that was not as pleasant. 

He wanted John and Sherlock to come for mummy's birthday and Sherlock tried all the ways he knew to get out of it until John said "Thank you Mycroft, we would love to come." and that certainly shut Sherlock up.

In a sulk

For ages.

"Child!" John laughed, but they made up with kisses and sexy time late into the night.

#

Monday found them back at The Church Of Salvation as Uncle John and Skylar. John dropped Sherlock off with a promise to come back in time to walk him home.

Fr. Eden caught John just as he was leaving with a reminder he had promised to come have a cosy chat after the meeting, and John waved and said he would see him then. He also handed over Sherlocks completed forms, filled with falsehoods, and a cheque for one thousand pounds made out to The Church of Salvation. (Thank you New Scotland Yards Petty Cash piggybank!)

The meeting was held in a mezzanine above the altar where the choir would usually sang. It was bright and airy, and had chairs set in a semi circle, and a handy white board set at the front of the room.

Apart from Skylar there were 7 other teens and young adults strewn on the seats, with Fr.Dean, a lady Sherlock deduced was a councillor, and of course, Gigantor the guard.

"Well, welcome everyone. Glad you could come today, thank you for making the time." Fr. Eden began. "This is Tracy Hammersmith, she is a drugs and alcohol counsellor with Great Ormand Street Hospital, and my good friend Gerry there you know is my bit of muscle."

He laughed.

No-one else did. 

"So, to break the ice we will go around the circle, introducing each other. I will start." Fr. Eden said. "My name is Father Branwen Eden. I have been at this Parish for a little over twelve months and I really enjoy this part of London. I have been helping kids in your situation for at least ten years. My hobbies are reading and growing rare plants."

"Interesting." Sherlock deadpanned quietly. Especially considering what he had found in the basement....

"Hi kids, I am Tracy Hammersmith. I have been a drug and alcohol councillor for ten years also. Ummmm, I have a small dog and once went to Nepal."

"Following a man who ditched you for several Nepalese women." Sherlock said out loud.

"What? Uh..."

"Oh please." Sherlock sneered.

"Since you are so vocal Skylar, you may go next." Fr. Eden said. "Hoodie hood off in here please."

Sherlock hugged and slid the hood off, revealing his wild barely contained pony tail and exotic green eyes. One of the other boys whistled.

"Hey pretty, we know how you kept yourself in gear!" 

"Are you implying I was a prostitute?" Sherlock slitted his eyes at the boy. The boy threw his hands up in a back off gesture.

"Oh no not at all Pretty..." he said, all false innocence. "I bet your Daddy keeps you on a real tight leash!"

The rest of the group snickered.

"Brandon, enough." Fr.Eden said. "Go ahead Skylar."

"I'm Skylar, obviously." Sherlock began, hunching down in his chair, shoving his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. "My Uncle John made me come here."

Brandon snickered again but Sherlock ignored him.

"I like sitting at stations watching trains, American situation comedies, huffing bleach and getting royally fucked up."

"Language, Skylar. We don't swear here."

Sherlock shrugged.

Brandon went next.

"Brandon, twenty, single ladies, don't crowd, there is enough for all of you." he winked at the only two girls in the room who just stared at him like he was an alien. "I have been a filthy junkie since my dad put his pee pee in my poo hole when I was six."

Shocked silence.

"Only joking, my dads dead. I just reeeeeeaaaaly like Heroin."

"Brandon, that really isn't funny."

It took another fifteen minutes to meet everyone else, but Sherlock was mainly interested in Brandon. There was something unspoken between him and Fr.Eden, and Sherlock was most interested in what it could be. 

For quite some time Tracy spoke of addiction and what it meant at a cellular level. Sherlock became bored in three minutes flat, and he was by no means the only one fidgeting. One of the older men was about to jump out of skin, Meth addict, and Brandon's leg was jumping like it was getting electrical shocks.

Then Tracy handed out a diagram of the cycle of addiction, and another one about the cycle of giving UP an addiction.

Then it was coffee and cigarette break.

Brandon was out the door like a rat out of an aqueduct, cigarette already in his lips.

Sherlock followed, intent on keeping this boy in his sights.

Brandon was leaning against a wall, blissfully sucking on a cigarette. Sherlock placed one of his own prop smokes (Oh, it was real, but he had added them as part of his disguise without John knowing. Anything to avoid that...FROWN of his) into his lips. He got out his lighter but it misfired.

"Fucking cunt!" Sherlock swore, shaking the bastard.

"Here." Brandon offered his. Sherlock took it with a gruff thanks, lit his cigarette and inhaled great fully. Handing the lighter he nodded. Brandon nodded back.

"Not seen you round the traps." Brandon said then.

"Just moved here." Sherlock said, looking out over the church grounds. "Uncle John needed to redeem himself with Jesus."

"Ah..dad give up on you?"

Sherlock shook his head and his pony tail bobbled unfamiliarly against his neck.

"Mum." he said. "I think I broke her."

"You are a bad boy Skylar." Brandon teased.

"Takes one to know one."

"Me?" Brandon blinked innocently at him. "Pure as the driven snow I am."

"Uh huh. What you said about your dad was true though." Skylar said. "But you weren't six, you were older."

"How in the hell would you know that you sick fucker?" Brandon's face was red with anger and shame.

Sherlock locked his eyes on Brandon's, summoning all his method acting abilities.

"Takes one to know one." he said.

#

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gillian wins the shiny penny!
> 
> "Brandon was out the door like a rat out of an aqueduct, cigarette already in his lips."


	9. ASK ME I WON'T SAY NO HOW COULD I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets up with Fr. Eden and gets a funny tummy.
> 
> Chapter title is Smiths lyrics from the song "Ask" which is one of at least three really pervy songs The Smiths put out.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 9: ASK ME I WON'T SAY NO HOW COULD I?

John sat in Fr. Edens office again, this time with a cup of tea and some lovely imported Australian Tim Tams.

"How did Skyler do today?" He asked.

"He is not the most social of creatures is he?" Eden commented.

"I should say not."

"Still, that brain is astounding!" Fr. Eden added and John could only nod.

"That it is."

"So, you had questions of a religious nature John?"

"Yes, I do. Lots."

"Ask away."

John sipped his tea, and pushed his el fakeo glasses up his nose.

"How do you know...God...is THERE, that he is LISTENING?"

"Oh start with the curly ones!" Fr Eden crinkled his eyes in a laugh and John suddenly felt a slimy knot of queasiness slip strangely through his guts. He put his tea down, unable to drink it. What was wrong with him?

"It is faith, John." Fr Eden said then. "Sometimes some of us get called, and John, that is amazing. You may feel the presence of something, maybe a voice tells you, sometimes it is just an all over warmth."

John nodded thinking yeah, bullshit. You sick fuck-

Where in the hell had that come from?

"And faith, John, is like wind. You cannot see the wind but you can see the effects. Leaves move, waves are formed, our hair can fluff about."

"Hurricanes, Tornados..." John said, only half joking.

"Well strong faith can feel like a hurricane sometimes."

Bastard had an answer for everything.

"So, say there is a God." John said. "How does he let bad things happen?"

"He gave us free will John. Humans being awful to humans is basically free will and ignorance. And natural disasters are Gods way of strengthening whole communities."

"What about psychological trauma, child abuse, murder, sexual assault." John asked, amazed at how calm his voice was when his insides were churning!

"Free will John." Eden said again. "Those are awful things, but a fact of modern life. We have been given free will. Some of us know how to be kind to other humans, some have never been shown. I believe everyone gets a chance or seven to be shown The Way. It can sometimes take those seven times but eventually everyone knows Gods unconditional love." Fr Eden smiled again. 

He went on:

"And who knows what worse things God was protecting us from when other bad things happened to us? If we are in a car crash, did that stop us from being in a plane crash? If our leg is broken, who's to say it was to prevent a head injury? Only God knows. It is nice to trust in Him John, he really does care for each and every one of us."

In a pigs ear, thought John.

"And pray John. Always pray. Pray daily for guidance, thank our Heavenly Father, use Him to make you stronger. Lean on him, even in your darkest blackest times."

Johns face was pale. He was feeling sicker and sicker with every word Fr Eden spoke. 

The good Father mistook this illness for interest. He rustled once again in his drawers and brought out another pamphlet.

"I have another meeting late on Wednesday nights. It is for family's of addicts and it relies on Gods teachings. I think you would benefit from popping along. Know you are not alone, and get more of these burning questions answered."

John swallowed. 

"How much?"

"Only twenty pounds. Just for the supply of coffee and tea." Fr Eden said, smiling again and handing over the pamphlet. John took it in shaky hands, and stood.

"Thank you for your time."

John could not stumble out of there fast enough. 

When he finally reached the cool afternoon air he breathed for a few minutes before staggering to the churches lovely rose garden and throwing up the tea he just drank.

When he had finished heaving his guts up his phone tinged.

GONE TO SCORE POT FROM LESTRADE. DON'T WAIT UP-SH

"What in the fuck does that even mean?" John asked himself. He hgve up. He was too shaky and Ill to even care.

#


	10. COS I'M A BRAT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade deals pot to Sherlock.
> 
> Special homage to IBegtoDreanandDiffers sexy Lestrade character in her wonderful Mystrade adventure "Give me your labels and I will make confetti". Check it out, it is awesome!

COTILLION

CHAPTER 10: COS I'M A BRAT

Sherlock waited with Brandon for John outside the church. He sucked on a cigarette and indulged in small talk with the young junkie.

"Hate going home. My mums probably drunk again." Brandon said.

"Ah, yes, I have the horrors of a full dinner with an overly caring Uncle to go home to." Sherlock joked. "That is in itself a whole different minefield."

"You speak weird."

"As in, what is a educated Public School Boy like me doing hooked on junk and throwing my million dollar education down the drain?"

"Ha! Exactly what I mean Skylar!"

Sherlock shrugged.

"I like lowering others expectations of me." he said, and smiled.

Brandon laughed for quite a while at that.

"So Brandon, wanna get fucked up?"

"What are you offering?"

"Know a dealer, could get us some very nice oily top of the plant bud."

Brandon shrugged.

"Okay."

Sherlock got his phone out and txt.

YOU HAVE TWENTY MINUTES TO GET YOUR DEALER GEAR ON AND SELL ME SOME POT. I AM SKYLAR -SH

Then he sent the co-ordinates of a nearby alley that Lestrade The Dealer could get to, and so could he and Brandon.

He then sent a quick txt to John.

"Let's go." he said, and led the way.

Maybe by doing a big bag of pot together, Sherlock could find out a bit more about Brandon, Fr.Eden and the weird stuff he found in the basement.

#  
Brandon sucked back on a ciggy, shivering in the cold. Sherlock stood a little way from him, huddled into his hoodie.

"Where's your dealer then?"

"He'll be here."

"Been half an hour-"

A set of plodding footsteps echoed down the alley and Brandon stopped talking, nervous.

"Hello Skylar, long time no see. Keeping it warm for me?" 

Lestrade grabbed Sherlocks arse and Sherlock jumped. He slitted his eyes at Lestrade and then remembered who he was, and nodded.

Honestly, Lestrade looked ridiculous. He was in tight black jeans, black press studded shirt, thin red tie and checkered converse. 

His hair was sexily messy and...was that eye liner? It was!

He looked like the lead singer of Green Days sexy Uncle. It was....disturbing.

"Who's your little friend?" Lestrade asked then, nodding to Brandon.

"Uh, Brandon, this is an old friend-"

"More than that I hope beautiful." Lestrade said, and fondled Sherlocks arse again. He held his hand out to Brandon. "Pleased to meet cha! You can call me Brat."

"Uh, hi..." Brandon said, nervously sucking back another puff of cigarette.

"So what ya want today Skyler?"

"The usual."

"And I will expect the usual payment, tonight, my place." Lestrade-as-Brat said. He reached into the front of his jeans pocket and brought out a Baggie. He held it out to Sherlock with two fingers. Sherlock went to grab it and Lestrade whipped it up out of reach.

"Uh uh, kiss first."

Sherlock looked at Lestrade in horror. Lestrade pressed his lips to Sherlocks and kissed him, dirty, with his tongue.

"I will kill you for this." Sherlock whispered as Lestrade pulled away.

"See you tonight peach-pie." Lestrade said, and toddled off back up the alley.

"So..uh...your dealer and you..."

"We have an arrangement." Sherlock said. Mostly because Lestrade would have been in big enough trouble providing Sherlock with bud without taking money for it too.

"I see..." Brandon said, then his face split into a grin.

"Shut it!"

"I know a place nearby. Let's go." Brandon said then, still laughing.

Sherlock was going to find Lestrade later and punch him in the neck. 

Twice. 

Really REALLY hard.

#


	11. DUDE SWEET

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does NOT inhale.
> 
> Title from Dude where's my car, the greatest movie of all time. OF ALL TIME!

COTILLION

CHAPTER 11: DUDE, SWEET

The abandoned warehouse Brandon led them to was so reminiscent of his early 20's that Sherlock almost felt at home. 

There was a fire burning in a drum, other junkies and some homeless people who, Sherlock noted, we're not part of his network. 

Yet. 

He liked to think yet.

There were crates, tyres and fruit boxes to sit on, quiet corners, and trash pushed into corners in a strange attempt at housekeeping.

Pigeons roosted way up in the steel girders and big old lights, no longer attached to electricity, swayed in the wind that blew through the open tops of the walls.

Brandon managed to get a bowl and a lovely pair of scissors to chop up with from a mate in exchange for a twenty pound note, the last of Sherlocks money.

The ritual of decimating cigarettes for its tobacco and cutting it in with the pot was done with practiced hands. Sherlock provided the papers from inside his cigarette box ( a habit left over from his stupid drug times, now coming in handy in his new life.)

Two fat joints were rolled and smoked.

Sherlock was not the actor he claimed to be if he could not fake smoking a joint but he did find himself giggling when his brain said "I smoked it, but I did not inhale".

Still, half an hour later he was pleasantly buzzed, laying on the cold warehouse floor, back propped on a tyre.

Brandon was way the worse for wear though. The saying was off his face, and he was well off his face. Flat on his back next to Sherlock.

"Father Eden is a bit intense?" Sherlock said, staring at the smoke as it twirled over his head. "Not sure I like him."

"He's okay. Likes orchids."

"Pft clearly." Sherlock said. "Saw his setup. In the basement."

"That's his mushroom stash, you are lucky he didn't slit your neck." he giggled.

"Okay." Sherlock nodded, thinking "Stupid stupid, mushrooms of course!"

"He sometimes gets me to do stuff." Brandon said.

"Yeah?" this sounded interesting.

"Do odd jobs."

"oh yeah."

"Can I ask you something Skylar?"

"Sure."

"The stuff you do with Brat, does he make you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Does he....MAKE you, like..hurt you and bend your arm and threaten to cut your balls off?"

Sherlock looked over at Brandon who would not meet his eyes.

"If I want my gear I have to suck him off. So no, he does not make me. And what is a quick blow job? It's nothing." Sherlock waved his hand.

"What about...the other?"

"What other?"

"YOU know..."

"Oh. Giving is not so bad." Sherlock said.

"No...what about...see I ain't gay, but...if I do what he wants, he gives me stuff."

Sherlock puzzled this over. All of him wanted to say "Run, run while you can!" but as Skylar he had to remember that it was a hand to mouth existence and if you has no money sometimes you paid with your body.

And...just exactly who was Brandon talking about?

"Father Eden? Father Eden fucks you?" Sherlock asked in a harsh whisper, looking right at Brandon.

"You can't tell anyone!" Brandon hissed.

Oh hell no, he was going to tell John to stay the fuck away from him! 'Crush' my arse, if he touches John Watson that cassock wearing pederast will find himself EVISCERATED!

However....

"What do you get from him?" Sherlock asked, as Skylar.

Brandon was silent.

"Brandon...what do you get from him?"

"I ain't talking about this anymore. Forget I said anything. I am speaking shit."

"Yeah, okay, what ever mate."

Sherlocks brain was working slower than usual but was still super fast compared to the normal population.

But just as he got into a real good think there was a commotion over at the entrance. Gruff voices were raised in annoyance as a drunk crashed into a pile of crates, causing them to topple over. 

"Watch it mate!" 

"Jeezus you idiot!"

"For fucks sake!"

The man stumbled again and then lent on a wall, trying to keep his feet still, trying to get his balance, trying to stay upright.

Sherlock took one look at the man and bolted to his feet.

" I will See you next Monday Brandon." he said, dead natural. 

Then he bolted over to the man, grabbed him by his tatty over coated arm, and dragged him away.

"John, you cock-"

"Not John....Meth...I'm Meth...."

"Meth then...." Sherlock dragged the Alter that was in his friend out into the night, along the alley and out onto the main road. He stopped underneath a street light and turned Meths face to him.

"Jesus Christ Meth...what in the fuck happened to you?"

#


	12. IF I COULD TASTE COLOURS, PINK WOULD BE CARAMEL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meth explains what happened after the roses.
> 
> You pronounce Jé "Sheh". 
> 
> Sheh Cross. 
> 
> K? 
> 
> Awesome!

COTILLION

CHAPTER 12: IF I COULD TASTE COLOURS, PINK WOULD BE CARAMEL

John had made it home after fertilising Fr. Eden's roses. It took a while, but that was as far as recalled....

#

Meths eyes were bloodshot and pinging. He looked terrified but controlled. He shook slightly. Sherlock could see his fringe trembling delicately.

"AlterBoy and me....we went home...we tried to complete Jé Cross..but...we couldn't..."

Interesting, Meth was part of AlterBoys ritual. Could two Alters work together like that for the same goal? He recalled that Flirt and SleepingJohn and Fury all worked together to trick Moriarty, but they all did something different. It seemed Meth and AlterBoy were doing the same thing, this Je Cross. 

Also, Hamish speaks through SleepingJohn but not up at a surface level. Perhaps that was what Meth meant? Meth talked through AlterBoy, or vice versa?

Sherlock tucked this nugget away.

"So frustrating... need the Blood and the Breath, but Sir is not here and WhiteEye will get us..."

"Who is White Eye?"

"Not me!" Meth keened, and used both his fists to smack into the side of his head. Sherlock grabbed his wrists to stop him.

"Who is white eye?" Sherlock insisted. He let one arm go, but held onto the other one.

"We see the eye at night. It comes to watch us do Jé Cross. If we do it right then he is happy. If we do it wrong..." Meth shuddered.

"Stop speaking in riddles!" Sherlock snapped, shaking Meth by the wrist he still has hold of. "Just tell me straight!"

Meth was whimpering and holding his chest with his other arm, the one Sherlock has let go. 

"Meth...are you hurt?"

Meths answer was a nod. 

"Got kicked by my dealer." he whispered.

"Got kicked...by...your dealer.." Sherlock repeated, just to be sure he heard that sentence right.

"He's a bastard." Meth whispered.

"Meth...have you used tonight?"

"Yeah." Meth said, looking at something shiny.

"Cocaine?"

"Not tonight. Something better."

"Mind telling me what it was?"

"Do indeed mind." Meth nodded. "Needed to do Jé Cross. Needed...shut up shut up shut up!" Meth began to pound on himself again and Sherlock had to battle to hold his arm still this time.

"God dammit, I know you have a disorder Dr Watson but this is beyond nuts! Stop fucking hitting yourself!"

Hmmm seemed smoking pot (but not inhaling) made him very intolerant. Not a trait he particularly admired in himself, like his hatred of clowns.

Meth didn't seem to notice but he did stop smacking himself. 

"So your dealer hurt you." Sherlock went on after a nice refreshing deep breath in.

"Wouldn't take my money. Said I had to do something else.'

Christ, were all dealers perverts?

"Didn't want to, it would pollute my body. Need to be clean for Jé Cross. No extra fluids."

"Ew." said Sherlock and almost clamped his own hand to his mouth. He was being extremely unprofessional. 

"So he kicked me when I said no."

"Are your ribs-"

"Paid him extra and he let me go with that. Ribs bent and a hole in my wallet."

"Do you need medical assistance?"

"I need a doctor."

"Come on, let's get you to St Barts."

"No. No!" Meth pulled back and winced. "Doctor Watson, we need Doctor Watson."

"So...bring him out." Sherlock said.

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"He's too scared. Said if he pops out now you will not love him anymore because he is mad and crazy and tried to fuck Dimmock."

"He didn't try..it was Flirt...good God this is more than I can cope with! John fucking Watson get out here now!" Sherlock hissed through angry angry teeth.

To his utter amazement it worked. Meth shuddered and closed his eyes and John emerged when the eyes were opened again.

He fell to his knees straight away, grasping his side and his head at the same time.

"Fuuuuuuuuuck meeeeeeee....." he moaned.

"Ah...." Sherlock said. And then added, "...Erm...."

"Nice one Sherlock." John moaned. "Lovely annunciation, now...what in the fuck happened, and why can I taste colours?"

#


	13. ORCHIDS AND DRUGS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There really isn't any difference to Sherlocks mind...
> 
> Also, Lestrade may get stabbed for kissing Johns boyfriend.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 13: ORCHIDS AND DRUGS

They got home rather late, Sherlock having to carry John to a cab, and then up the damn stairs to the flat.

Stripping to his waist in the bathroom John moaned at the sight of his bruised ribs.

"I think I can actually see a boot print." he said. Holmes dropped to his knees and gave it his close scrutiny.

"Hm, yes, interesting..."

"What are you doing?"

"Matching the print with a know shoe type."

"Get off, you so cannot do that!"

Sherlock looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"You HAVE met me, yes?"

"Alright alright you are a bloody genius!" John snipped, rifling painfully through the medicine cabinet for a strapping bandage. "At least I haven't broken anything, but they are fucking sore."

Sherlock carefully helped John strap his ribs. John gave him a delicate kiss.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Just...being you. Helping. Being here." John smiled.

"Soppy git!" Sherlock smiled.

"Tea?"

"Lovely."

Sherlock didn't move.

"I'll get it? Shall I?"

Once tea was made they both sat at the kitchen table.

"So what did you score from Lestrade? The good stuff?"

"Top of the plant. And a tongue kiss."

"Yer WOT???" John exclaimed.

"Oh you get dead common sometimes John Watson. Yes, Lestrade came dressed as a member of Green Day and stuck his tongue in my mouth."

"That is amazing."

"I may have to smack him"

"No, it's amazing that you know who Green Day are."

"Amusing. I also learned that Father Eden may have forced Brandon into various sexual acts in exchange for something, most likely drugs. Or orchid smuggling, one of the two."

John nodded. The thing was, Sherlock was serious. Drugs OR orchid smuggling.

"Lot of call for orchids on the black market?" John asked, taking a sip of tea and keeping his voice flat.

"Some of the rarer species sell for thousands of pounds, for pollen alone." Sherlock recited.

"Yes of course."

"I also learned that Father Eden is possibly a sexual pervert and that you are now to stay away from him. What I thought was a crush may actually be predatory lust." Sherlock turned his deadly serious eyes to John.

"Oh....wait, he touched Brandon?" John exclaimed.

"Hurts him if Brandon doesn't do what he wants."

"Oh...yeah, that's bad." John nodded, mind whirling.

"So no more rehab for Skylar, no more little meetings for Uncle John." Sherlock announced.

"Okay...." John said. Sipping. 

"Better not tell Sherlock I have a meeting for families of drug addicts meeting Wednesday night." he thought.

# 

The next night found them off to Mummy's in Mycrofts town car.

"John, I love you in a suit."

"You love me out of it too."

"Tell me I'm pretty." Sherlock actually batted his eyelashes. John guffawed and kissed him deeply.

"You are breathtaking."

"You will be very sorry for saying yes to this you know. These dinners are hateful." Sherlock promised.

"I have not met your mother yet. I am thrilled to have been invited."

"Pft. I am thrilled I get to punch Lestrade."

"Oh please don't punch Lestrade!"

"May I stab him?"

"No you may not."

"You toadally suck dude!" Sherlock said in an Californian accent.

"I will suck you later. In mummy's broom closet. IF you do not physically attack Lestrade"

"Verbally....?"

John thought for a second.

"You may verbally take him apart. He did kiss my boyfriend."

"Marvellous!" Sherlock smiled in evil glee. "Oh, we're here."

The car stopped and the two men got out. Ahead of them along the circular path was Mycroft and Lestrade, just getting out of Mycrofts personal town car.

Sherlocks little beady eyes gleamed.

John gave him a kiss on the lips.

"Have at him love." he whispered.

#


	14. Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet a surprise guest at mummy's dinner and Mycroft assaults Flirt.
> 
> Sorry this took so long, but I got Skyfall on DVD, and was replaying the "Oh Mister BOND!" scene over and over again...
> 
> And again...
> 
> Oh and today I was at a government building waiting for my name to be called when I heard: "WATSON, JOHN WATSON!?"
> 
> I about pooped myself.
> 
> Sad to say it was not him.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 14: Q

Watching Sherlock stride over to Lestrade gave John a tiny thrill. 

"Lestrade, I think you gave me mouth Ebola with that terrible bloody kiss yesterday!"

"Ah Sherlock, now pleasant to see you actually turned up." Mycroft said sardonically.

"Mycroft, your boyfriend molested my boyfriend!" John called over, and snickered.

"'Lo Sherlock, and how was the pot I gave you?" Lestrade smiled. "You want another kiss?" and he waggled his tongue at the detective.

"Not even to save my life, Lestrade."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow.

"New Scotland Yard is certainly progressive." was all he said, and walked off inside, Lestrade grinning at Sherlock and following.

John took Sherlocks hand in his.

"You were super strong and dead rugged." he whispered.

John was introduced to Mummy who was holding court in the drawing room. She had the same auburn hair as Mycroft but long and glossy and in waves. 

She was stunning, did not look older than 50. Her dress was elegant, but a bit young for her. Her husband, Sherlocks father, Sigur, had died fifteen years before, but she had had a string of lovers because she was still hot. 

The fact she was loaded also helped.

John charmed her of course, he had that way with the ladies. She announced him "Positively precious" and told Sherlock had was "lucky" and had "done well".

A little bit later the door bell went again and the Holmes Family Butler admitted a new visitor.

John was completely shocked when the man who approached them looked almost the dead spit of Sherlock, but younger, slightly neater hair, and with handsome thick black rimmed glasses.

"Sherlock, Mycroft." He nodded, then stuck out his hand for John to shake. "Quintin Holmes." he said with a smile.

"John, this is our youngest brother." Sherlock said. "He has a MAJOR position in British government." he added, to chide Mycroft who was in hearing distance.

"Of which you are quite jealous no doubt." Quintin countered his brother.  
"Working for British Intelligence? Hardly. There's a misnomer if I ever heard one." Sherlock scoffed.

"You are envious of how close I am to The Big Man."

Sherlock made a derogatory sound, and Quintin turned to be introduced to Lestrade.

"The Big Man?" John whispered to Sherlock.

"Bond."

"Wait...Quintin is.....Q??"

"SHH John, and yes. But you never heard it from me."

"Sherlock...do you have a crush on James Bond?"

"Of course I do John, the man is breathtaking! Only has eyes for Quintin however."

"God, how can I compete with James fucking Bond?"

"You do fine John." Sherlock said offhand, watching Lestrade and Quintin make small talk.

John smiled, taking what he could get. Then:

"So....any more brothers I should know about?" 

"Yes, Sigersund, the oldest. He is a Bee Keeper in Yorkshire."

"..sisters?"

"Don't be absurd John."

Dinner was served directly at 8. It was a delicious four course meal with all sorts of meats and veggies and what John could only assume was either quail or tiny pigeons. 

The brothers bickered and John and Lestrade were mostly amused, sometimes a bit embarrassed. Quintin was, if possible, a bit more aware of His Great Self than Sherlock but, unlike his older brother, was quite unassuming about it. 

Mummy smiled and indulged all three of her boys but always managed to keep polite conversation going after a while.

Later, the brothers, John and Lestrade withdrew to the drawing room like it was 1837. 

Mummy retired to bed for her beauty sleep but not before telling them she was so pleased they could make it to her birthday dinner and she hoped they could get together again soon.

John found a comfortable window seat. He removed his jacket and loosened his tie, happily well fed. He was content to watch Sherlock and Mycroft break each others balls, Lestrade looking on with a glint in his eye.

Quintin made it over to John and floomphed next to him.

"Aren't they cute?" he asked John, waving to where his brothers were sparring.

"Do you ever get used to it?"

"Oh, I am not sure weather used to it is a good term but you certainly know it is most likely going to come."

"Have they ever got on?"

"Oh make no mistake, if Mycroft was in danger Sherlock would lay down his life, but really, the two have been at each others throats forEVER!"

"How does Sigersund fit in?"

"Ah, Siggy, he has always been....different."

"You mean?"

"Lower one fifties I Q." Quintin said, mock sadly, shaking his head.

"I am surprised he wasn't disowned."

Quintin laughed, and punched John in the arm, causing John to jump. He had not expected to be touched by this brother he had just met. And he was very similar to Sherlock...it was confusing.

"Why do you think he's in Yorkshire?" Quintin honked.

"I love the sexy Yorkshire accent." John said suddenly, leaning back and spreading his arms over the back of the window seat.

"Whey Aye?" Quintin said, and winked. 

John giggled.

"Ah...Sherlock" Lestrade said. "Sherlock...."

"...so maybe if you used what little cognitive power you have in that tiny head of yours Mycroft, you would realise-"

"SHERLOCK!"

"WHAT?"

Lestarde nodded over at John, who was leaning into Quintins fringe with his forehead, hand on his thigh, whispering. Quintin looked charmed.

"Flirts out."

Before Sherlock could react though, it was Mycroft who strode across the room, lifted John up, spun him, sat in Johns spot next to Quintin, and laid Flirt over his lap.

"Flirt, if you insist on being badly behaved I am afraid I will have to resort to corporal punishment!"

And then to the shock of the room Mycroft laid four, five, six sharp smacks on Flirts perky little backside.

Flirt sqwarked in fright and struggled, but only for a minute. Sherlock leaped across the room and yanked Flirt off Mycrofts lap. Flirt hid inside Sherlocks jacket, shaking.

"Mycroft you insufferable fool!" Sherlock yelled. "When has physical punishment ever worked? You are the most insensitive prig of a man, and if you have set Johns progress back by ANY length I will personally fire bomb your office!"

"Sherlock, Mycroft was only trying a theory-" Lestrade began to stick up for Mycroft, but Sherlock cut him off.

"What he did, LESTRADE, was bordering on physical abuse. You know his history, as does Mycroft. How. DARE. YOU!" 

Sherlock wrapped his arms around Flirt who had began to cry. Mycroft had the good grace to look slightly red faced.

"I was trying to shock Flirt back to John."

"Imbecile!"

"Sherlock, I am very sorry."

"Apologise to Flirt!"

"Flirt, please accept my apologies. I was most remiss."

Flirt said nothing, just sobbed, clinging to Sherlock.

"Well, this is a shame." Quintin spoke up. "Thought I was in there...."

#


	15. GOOD LINES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have Johns Alters run for the hills?

COTILLION

CHAPTER 15: GOOD LINES

Sherlock held John the whole way home in the town car. There was no other option but to leave after Mycrofts faux par.

"I cannot understand his reasoning!" Sherlock fumed. "How did he even think that would work? And for fucks sake, Fury could have taken his head off! Did he not even take that into consideration? My brother is a class A fuck!"

"Q..." John croaked.

"Yes, he is too! Flirting back at Flirt like that!"

"No, Q started it. He startled me. Punched my arm in a....cute way. For some reason that caused me to black out. And then Flirt came..." John waved his hand. He was resigned to the fact his arse was marked by someone other than Sherlock but his feelings were hurt more. He did actually think Mycroft was his friend. 

But why HADN'T Fury popped out and smacked Mycroft around? Because John himself admired Mycroft so much? Or was Fury integrating like some of his childhood Alters had? 

He hoped not, Fury was awesome.

"John, is there ever anyone ever who just wants you for your mind?"

John chuckled.

"Maybe James Bond?"

"John, do you have a crush on James Bond?"

"Yeah, 'course, he's breathtaking." John smiled tiredly, and snuggled intoSherlock. "I am dead tired Sherlock." he added.

"Sleep, I will wake you up when we get home."

#

John was surprised to find himself the first one at the Church Wednesday night. He had dressed carefully in his Uncle John clothes but covered his disguise in a mac, and managed to get out the door while Sherlock was staring at Bat Noses on his computer. 

Man seriously needed to get a hobby.

John was early, he admitted, but surely others would have been just as enthusiastic to get some guidance over people with addiction?

In that second Father Eden and his ever present body guard opened up the church doors.

"Ah, John, first one here I see? Come in, would you like a tea or coffee?"

"No thanks Father, I had a tea before I got here." 

"Hang your coat here." Fr. Eden offered, and showed John a hook on a room just inside the nave. 

"Oh, ta"

"How is Skylar doing?"

"He and Brandon are thick as thieves." John said, then winced. "Probably not the best saying I could have chosen." he added as he came out of the room.

To come face to face with a gun, pointed at his chest. Father Eden.

"Uh....this seems extreme. I did bring my twenty pounds."

"Seems you have not been very honest with me, have you John?" gone was all the twinkly eye smiles, replaced with a creepy eyed grin.

"Alright, I don't have the money, but the cheques in the mail I swear."

"Most amusing John. Which is also apropos...you never told me you had a twin brother."

John was suddenly grabbed from behind, an arm around his neck and a giant hand over his mouth. The bodyguard! He struggled but Gigantor was amazingly strong. If was like having an upper body hug with an elephant.

Fr Eden used his gun-free hand to untuck Johns shirt and lift it up. As soon as he saw the bruising and the strapping he grinned harder, then stepped back.

"John, I hate to be the one to break it to you but you have a substance abuse problem."

John murfled into Gigantors hand and Fr Eden gestured with his gun. Gigantor let Johns mouth go and John said:

"You are Meths dealer!"

"Not Meth, dear, mushrooms." Fr Eden said, misunderstanding Meths name for the drug. "They must have been good for you not to have remembered. So the question is, Uncle John, just who are you? See, there is another John who looks like you. A certain confirmed bachelor John Watson, offsider to the great detective Sherlock Holmes. Who bares a striking resemblance to your nephew Skylar. I may be a drug dealing priest dear, but I am not entirely without my ear to the ground."

Fr.Eden stepped closer.

"Come to bust up my little ring of drugs and vice Doctor Watson?"

"If we can, yeah." John nodded,cool as a cucumber despite nobody knowing where he was. Maybe he should have told Sherlock he was coming here tonight....

"It would take more than you, John Watson, to destroy years of work."

John smirked. There WAS more than him, although they were certainly making themselves scarce tonight. Again he was asking, where was Fury? And could he take Gigantor easily?

"Then...YOU'RE DeAngelo." John said. "The King Pin."

"In the flesh."

"Did NOT see that coming."

"Really? With my angelic connections, being a man of the cloth?"

"Well, I am only the side kick after all."

"And with that in mind, I wonder what it will ale to lure in the Great Detective? If I asked nicely? If I sent bits of you to him? Or do I just wait, see if he is great at all."

"My advice would be give yourself up now."

Fr. Eden laughed.

"Really John? You have your head in a man vice and a gun pointed at your heart. And your advice is 'give up'? I am open to negotiations, always, but what on earth do you have for leverage in this situation.?"

John shrugged. "....well it must be quite something if all these odds are stacked against me and I am still quipping."

Fr. Edens eyes slitted.

"You got nothing." he said confidently. "Take him to the basement." he added to Gigantor, then slid his eyes back to John. 

"Let's get comfy and wait for Sherlock Holmes to come rescue you."

John was now royally pissed at his Alters. How many good lines can you feed your inner psyche before they leaped to your rescue? 

He then felt himself lifted bodily, hand gagged again, and dragged down the aisle and then further down the basement steps.

Fr Eden unlocked the door and they crossed into a dank room that smelled of dirt and something heady and strong.

"Welcome to the jungle, we got fun AND games." Fr Eden said then, and John was thrown Into a chair. Ah good, now was his opportunity, or rather, Furys opportunity....

He got nothing, just John Watson.

Cuffed to the chair John Watson.

"What lead you here to this predicament John?" Fr Eden said then. "You are effectively cutting off your own supply. Is it so hard to be Sherlocks sidekick that you need to resort to getting fucked up?"

John smiled a little at a priest swearing.

"I just like stoping turds like you, by an means necessary." He waited a beat, no alters. "Predators like you need to be shown Gods Love is a fucking bastard of a thing if you fuck with his greatest creation."

"Eh? Mobile phones?"

"Humans, you idiot. I know what you did to Brandon, and who knows who else. What a priest did to ME when I was younger."

"Oh BRANDON? Well, he is not going to bother anyone. As for your priest molesting you, John, you are so....eager. It is easy to fall under your spell."

"Wait...what did you do to Brandon...?"

"Never you mind your pretty little head John Watson." 

"What.did.you.DO?" John hissed at the man, leaning forward in his binds as if he was going to bite the priest to death.

"John, Brandon had no chance at life. Abused at home, abused at church, what was keeping the poor boy going? Answer, nothing. I am sorry to say he hung himself." Fr Dean looked overly sad, shook his head slowly and clicked a few tut tut tuts. Then he looked up and grinned at John.

"....with a little help from yours truly of course."

And NOW an Alter surged to the surface.

John felt himself black out and thought:

"About fucking time."

#


	16. JÉ CROSS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious Ritual

COTILLION

CHAPTER 16: JÉ CROSS

Sherlock stomped through the flat.

"JOHN!" he shouted. John was nowhere to be found. He must have popped out. "John, bats noses are boring me now."

He got to Johns room and spent three seconds deducing. 

Ordinary day clothes tossed on the bed.

He had changed

Why had he changed?

Uncle Johns shirt not in the wardrobe, so, wore his Uncle John shirt out, must be going to.....wait...

New three-pair set of dress socks on the dresser, minus one pair. Dress socks were for Uncle John disguise, definitely went out as Uncle John.

Why had he gone out as Uncle John?

Pamphlet under the socks with CHURCH OF SALVATION: Family's and friends of addicts. Wednesday night..tonight....even after he had been warned.... 

"Oh for fucks fucking sake John, you stupid stupid stupid..." was all Sherlock could really say. His feet were taking him to his coat, scarf....Johns highly illegal gun, and out the door before he spat the last "Stupid" from his lips.

#

"RELEASE ME!" 

The voice that came from soft spoken John Watsons throat was unearthly.

"Jesus Christ." Eden whispered, spine tingling. Did the air temperature just drop about ten degrees?

"Release me Priest!" the voice added then, and Johns head rose to stare straight at Eden.

The eyes were no longer human, almost totally black, and Eden nearly smiled. All his life he had been waiting for this, for THIS!

"He needs to do Statiõns Du Jé Cross." Johns new voice hissed like steam over coals. Then he began to speak in words Eden hardly recognised..until he suddenly did. Spanish!

"Oh!" Eden finally snapped, and passed Gigantor the gun. "Your knife, now!" 

Gigantor took the gun, and passed Eden his large handled throwing knife. Eden slit the bindings of the creatures wrists and John immediately fell to his knees and began to mutter softly in that same Spanish dialect.

"The blood and The Breath!" Eden whispered reverently "I was training Brandon to do this ritual, before he...you know, died."

Gigantor merely nodded.

"Run upstairs and get me my Amice!" Eden then ordered Gigantor. "No....my cincture, this is too important!"

Gigantor turned to do Edens bidding.

"Hurry for fucks sake!"

Gigantor ran.

"All this time wasted on Brandon when my vessel was here in John Watson the whole time. That's what he meant by Priest who Molested him. I wonder who his Master was....'

By now AlterBoy had come into his own. He knew this ritual well. He divested himself of all but the black trousers of Uncle Johns clothes, including glasses socks and shoes, and in the low yellow light of the dungeon was moving with the same creepy grace Sherlock had seen a few nights ago. 

Only this time when he held out his arm, Eden was quick to flick the knife over the wrist, use his thumb to push the blood to the surface, and say his own part of the ritual.

AlterBoy continued, until he thrust his other arm out. Eden cut, pressed, spoke. 

On the third time, when the veins across AlterBoys elbow crook were slit and pressed, Gigantor returned. Eden pushed his fingers to his lips to silence Gigantor, held his hand out for his Cincture, and grasped it tightly, threw it over his neck.

Gigantor retired to stand quietly against a wall.

On the forth and final arm of the cross Eden slit the other arms elbow, pressed and said his final word. Then AlterBoy knelt in the centre of the invisible cross he had walked, sat back on his heels and thrust out his two bloodied arms, wrists together.

Eden watched reverently and....there! AlterBoys head flopped back, baring his full bursting neck to Edens knife. The Preist softly crossed to the kneeling man and gently placed his hand on top of his blond head.

He slowly, almost sexually, drew the sharp blade diagonally down the right hand side of AlterBoys neck. AlterBoy trembled with pain and when Eden pushed his thumb in he actually gasped. Eden moaned a little. All his black heart dreams, all his years of waiting and sacrifice, all led to this moment.

He swapped hands, equally adept with this hand as the other. He drew another diagonal line on AlterBoys throat, squeezed the blood and smiled a tiny smile when AlterBoy gasped again.

Eden then laid the knife aside, slipped the cincture from his neck and twirled both his hands around it, making sure got a good grip of it in his fists.

Then he slipped it over AlterBoys head, lined it up and juncture of AlterBoys throat and chin, and began to draw back on it, crossing his hands and ramming his knee between AlterBoys shoulder blades.

AlterBoy straight away began to choke and gasp for breath but he held his position, bloody head back, wounded wrists out.

Edens mouth curled into a grimace as he slowly tightened the cincture...

This is what Sherlock Holmes burst in to see before he shot the startled Gigantor and took out Fr.Eden

#


	17. PUNISHMENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish arrives, but is badly wounded.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 17: PUNISHMENT

The first shot took out Gigantor, the second put him down for good.

Three shots went into Fr Eden, one in the shoulder and two in the chest. He was down but not out. He lay moaning in pain, hands loose on the cincture. 

Sherlock bound to Johns side and unwrapped the cord that was around his throat. He flung it away. 

John slumped forward and Sherlock caught him carefully. Cradling Johns upper body gently Sherlock then pulled out his phone and sent one txt, and made one phone call. 

Johns eyes opened then, just a tiny slit. The pupil moved, found Sherlock, locked on.

"John, are you-" Sherlock began, putting his hand to Johns face.

"Hamish." Hamish croaked. "I can only be here for a minute. TheBody needs medical treatment."

"I have medics on the way Hamish. Please, what happened?"

"The Preist..." Hamish said.

"Father Eden?"

"No, Father Wade, he.." Hamish coughed roughly. 

"Father Wade, Johns DEAD Priest?"

"Not dead....he is in an institution. Mental Hospital. Saint columbus in Wales. But John has...a personality in here with us. Called Father Wade. He is like a shadow, a shade, John manifests him as a demon personality." Hamish coughed again. "As punishment..."

"Punishment for what?" Sherlock demanded harshly. He was petrified.

Hamish coughed again 

"Sherlock, help us...." he whispered. Then TheBody slumped and went still, a heavy warm weight against Sherlocks aching chest.

"Hamish. Hamish!" Sherlock called, brushing Johns fringe back, pressing his fingers to the damaged pulse point of Johns neck. Lovely strong heartbeat.

Eden croaked, struggling on the ground, trying to get up but flailing like a turtle.

"Wade...he was whispered about..." he croaked. "In our circle..."

"Stay down you fuck!" Sherlock spat, lifting the gun to point at Edens blanched face. Eden laughed a bitter laugh.

"Great detective, do you know what you have stumbled on here...?" He rasped. "No. No idea. The Blood and the Breath. Johns manifest destiny...." now it was Eden's turn to cough. "No getting away from Father Wade."

"Shut up. Just simply...shut up!" Sherlock told the struggling abuser.

Lestrades voice came down the stairs then.

"Sherlock!"

"Lestrade, down here!"

The silver haired Detective Inspector skittered into the room and skid to a stop. He took in the scene with practiced eyes, ignored the struggling Priest and went straight to Johns side. He, too, checked for a pulse. 

Strong. 

He relaxed.

"You okay Sherlock?" He asked his shaking friend as four more police officers filled the room. Eden was cuffed and read his rights. 

"I am fine Lestrade." Sherlock said, not admitting how much he needed Lestrades calm assurance right now.

"And John...?"

"The Priest cut him, tried to choke him." Sherlock said, calmly, as of he were speaking of anyone else, not the single most important person ever in his life ever.

"How many shots did you get into the bastard?" Lestrade asked calmly.

"Three."

Lestrade nodded. 

"Well done."

Next came two sets of paramedics. One set took care of Eden, who was soon on a gurney and up the stairs, heading to prison hospital, the other set took more time with John.

He was placed on oxygen, covered in a blanket, had his wounds assessed. He had not regained consciousness and Sherlock suspected the whole Body Network was closed for repairs. It was most likely a good thing.

John was then whisked away leaving Sherlock sitting on the cold basement floor, his head in his hands. Lestrade made sure the other police took care of Gigantors body, then went to sit beside his friend.

"When I saw that bastard choking John I saw such anger. I was RED with it. I am surprised I could shoot straight." Sherlock finally whispered.

"He was lucky you came when you did."

"I told John Eden was a danger to him. He came anyway. He is so stupidly brave I sometimes feel inadequate."

"You are plenty brave Sherlock." Lestrade said then

"I know I said I would not try and fix John by putting him back together. But John needs help. He needs to deal with his abuse, all the things he suffered. He needs....a professional."

"Sherlock, I am glad you realise it. But will John?"

"I have no idea Lestrade, but he has an Alter in him now who tried to get someone else to choke his own body. As punishment. It is beyond my understanding Greg..."

"Come on mate, I'll get you to the hospital. See John. Then we can start the ball rolling on helping him. I promise, we can pull together and find the very best treatment for him."

Sherlock got to his feet shakily and began to climb the stairs, ready to see John.

5 days later Eden escaped from the prison hospital.

#


	18. SELF MURDER IS JUST A FANCY WORD FOR SUICIDAL TENDANCIES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John accepts help.
> 
> I have slowed down on the chapters because I have no kids this weekend and series seven of Supernatural...
> 
> But I have the chapters planned, don't panic!!!!

COTILLION

CHAPTER 18: SELF MURDER IS JUST A FANCY WORD FOR SUICIDAL TENDANCIES

Sherlock dragged a chair up from the lounge room and pushed it close to the side of Johns bed at Baker street. John was strong enough to sit up now, and his throat swelling had gone down enough that he could eat, and drink, and finally...talk.

"Good to be home." he said. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it was not husky. He just was ordered to conserve it.

The gauze on his throat bobbed as he swallowed. He absent mindedly scratched at one of the gauze patches on his arms. At Sherlocks look, he stopped, gave a half smile.

"John, we do need to talk. Some of the stuff I have to say you won't like but remember..." Sherlock reached forward to hold Johns hand, run his thumb over the palm of the hand proffered him...."I love you."

"Uh oh...." 

Sherlock frowned.

"Sherlock, don't frown. I adore you too. But...I am losing myself. I hate it."

"That's what I want to talk to you about. Mycroft has found a facility that caters to your specific needs."

"What...ARE my specific needs?"

"Your Dissociative Identity Disorder."

"We tried to fix me before Sherlock. You said I was fine the way I am. I agreed."

"There is a new development."

John nodded, his eyes locked to Sherlocks. 

Damn, he looked so vulnerable. Sherlock wanted to kick someone.

"What did I do.....?" this time John DID whisper. 

"There is a powerful Alter in you determined to punish you for something your psyche thinks you did. Something so bad he is even on a few occasions tried to kill you. This, your injuries from Eden, is just another example of this Alters wrath."

"Wait....wait wait wait...." John held up his other hand, swallowing, staring now at the wall. He gathered himself. Clenched his jaw. When he looked back at Sherlock, the detective thought he would perhaps have to kick AND stomp someone. Not sure who. Just....someone. "I am suicidal?"

"It is more complex than that. You are more....prone to self murder." 

"Oh my God. I need help."

"Hamish begged me to help you John."

"HAMISH did? What do the others say?"

"None of the others can come out. Your demon priest Alter has them bound or repressed."

"Not even Fury?"

"No."

"But Flirt came out at Mummies party."

"I think perhaps Flirt tricked the priest Alter. He is very wily like that. But your guess is as good as mine there John."

"..oh but Fury did not kick Mycrofts arse....he should have, usually he would have." John was nodding to himself. "God, what if this priest let Flirt out so someone ELSE could off me, oh God Sherlock, what if he wanted YOU to kill me?"

"I never would, no matter how angry I got John. Please, that is a huge leap in logic. John, calm down please."

Sherlock used his other hand to smooth Johns forehead. His doctor was frightened, really frightened. It was hateful beyond words.

"This facility is in Wales. Quintin has a cottage in the next village over. He is letting us stay there for the duration. It is a quiet village, so we should actually have more down time than at the Loch" Sherlock smiled.

"But the DeAngelo drug ring. Eden escaping, all your work!" he looked over at Sherlock. "That bastard killed Brandon, tried to kill me-"

"Please, do not concern yourself with my cases. I am not. I have dropped everything. We are going to Wales to be at this clinic. John, I cannot stand the thought of losing you." Sherlocks voice cracked. John brought his detectives head forward and placed his forehead to those wonderful thick curls.

"I am going. You do not have to talk me into it. To have you by my side in this is more soothing than a big bunch of morphine. Thank you love." John said.

Sherlock snorted, then claimed Johns lips for a lovely quick kiss. John tried for a more deeper kiss then hissed in pain. 

"Are you okay-"

"Yes Sherlock, I like the pain."

"Kinky."

"You don't know the half of it, Consulting Detective Holmes."

#


	19. THE BLOOD AND THE BREATH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johns first session

COTILLION

CHAPTER 19: THE BLOOD AND THE BREATH

John was nervous. Really nervous. The small clinic in Wales was as daunting as any sand blown night in Afghanistan. He actually clutched Sherlocks hand like a giddy school girl at a Duran Duran concert.

The two men had got to the cottage yesterday. It was adorable, open plan, light shiny wood, deep couches, and the best set up kitchen in Christendom. Being Q's place it had some Bondian extras. Sherlock said to basically not press any buttons unless they were really sure what they did. 

The bed was king sized and John teased Sherlock by laying all over it.

"I am pretty sure I can small James Bond on this duvet." he had commented.

Sherlock had raised a eyebrow.

"No, that's not what James smells like." he had said, leaving John sputtering.

Q had given them use of his little classic British Racing Green MG as a runabout car. Both the boys were over the moon to be riding around in such a wonderful little car. Top up though, it was freezing in Wales.

But now they were at the preliminary interview with Dr Shay-Sean Macleod, leading expert in all things Dissociative. She had encouraged Sherlock to come for the first interview as Johns significant other. She also said she knew the great detective was a proper genius and would have some insight that John perhaps had not.

Finally a tall slim lady with hair like Sally Donovan's but longer, down to her waist, and fanned out like a demented octopus behind her arrived. Her skin was honey coloured and it matched her eyes. She was in a long white lab coat.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Macleod." she said, shaking Johns hand, and then Sherlocks, as both men stood. "I prefer Sean. White coat too much? My other patient likes me to look official."

"No no, the coat is fine. Fine." John said, nervously.

"Come on into the office then, let's get started."

John and Sherlock were seated on a comfy leather couch and Sean sat on a chair opposite. She crossed her legs and got out an iPad and stylus.

"My handwriting is shot." she explained. "I have very few notes from any of your previous times you were treated for Dee Aye Dee, but that doesn't matter, I want to start fresh."

"Okay..." John nodded, his hand creeping to Sherlocks. Sherlock grabbed it and held on tight. It was of course noted by Sean.

"Can you tell me when you first remember having blackouts?" Sean asked.

John shifted. 

"I have always had periods where I forgot stuff. Even as a child." he said, and coughed nervously. "I always put them down to the beatings and malnutrition."

Sherlocks breath hitched, as it did every time John said that.

"Is there a specific time you wondered if perhaps you sleep walked, or had seizures, or had a very shoddy memory, that sort of thing?"

"The first time I recall wondering, I was very little. Harry said I had been really funny the day before and told her to call me Smartie, not John. I didn't remember the day before at all."

"Is Smartie one of your Personalities?"

"We call them Alters. And if Smartie WAS an Alter, they have long gone." John thinned his lips. "God, I don't even know where they go, and sometimes, they come back."

"Oh that happens a lot with this particular disorder, you are not alone there." Sean smiled.

John kind of baulked. He had been wrapped in his own head for so long he forgot that others suffered this same problem. It actually made him feel tony tad better.

"Can you tell me the names and ages and personalities you have now?" Sean asked then.

"I have not met any of them. I saw a video of them. Once Fury was talking about Afghanistan, and then a whole bunch telling me my Da was a maggot. Sherlock has met them all though."

"Not all." Sherlock put in, his voice lower than usual with unspent emotion. "I have not met your Demon Priest."

John nodded.

"Do you think you could list them for me then Sherlock, just so I know who I may be meeting." Sean asked the, stylus at the ready.

Sherlock smiled at John.

"The first one I met was SleepingJohn. He is on guard at night, protects the body. He puts a knife under Johns pillow. He was made when John was about five I think."

"Dangerous?" Sean asked.

"Define dangerous. He would never harm me because he knows I am not a danger to TheBody, but he has used his knife against Moriarty."

"The Master Criminal you caught last month."

"Yes. All the Alters worked together, and we caught him. He is locked away now."

"Who did you meet next?"

"Well, SleepingJohn has a personality that talks to him called UnderJohn. He is like the Prime Minister. Looks after TheBodys personalities behind the scenes. UnderJohn talks to all the Alters but his actual words are only relayed to me by SleepingJohn."

"Oh now that is unusual. But extremely interesting." Sean made a note. "How does SleepingJohn let you know it is UnderJohns words?"

"Thete is a pause, and then SleepingJohn says 'He says to tell you' and then relays the message."

"Oh good. That is a relief. Sometimes the under ones draw obscure pictures, or click." Sean smiled.

"UnderJohn comes out as Hamish if he needs to be physically present." Sherlock went on. "He explained that he is the glue. He is almost as clever as myself, very reasonable, calm, authoritarian, gentle, wise..."

"Good in bed." John smiled and Sherlock actually blushed.

"When did Hamish become created do you think?"

"He told me has has always been, that he creates Alters to best suit what TheBody needs. He created Flirt when John needed niceness and sweetness, and love."

"Sherlock, Flirt just wants sex. That is his power trip." John said.

"Yes, I agree John, but he was made to get physical closeness for you, human contact."

"So Flirt is new?"

"Flirt is new and quite lovely, although I worry he will give John a bad reputation. People don't understand it is not John, and we both feel it would not be prudent to air his disorder to all and sundry."

All three nodded.

"Probably best right now. Are there other Alters?"Sean asked.

"Yes. There is Robin, who was Johns twin, Jack, before his da killed-" Sherlock paused.

"It's okay Sherlock. I think it's in official coroners reports and crime files by now."John said, then turned to Sean. "My Da murdered my brother Jack and now his personality, Robin, has come to live in me. I called Jack Robin after Robin Hood. So that's what the Alter calls himself."

"He is ten, the age he was murdered. Likes tractors." Sherlock said, and gave a half smile.

"He will love it here then." Sean smiled. "In Wales. Tractors everywhere. Any others?"

"TheFuryandtheFear." Sherlock said. "We call him Fury for short."

"He is the one who told me, through video, what happened to me in Afghanistan. Why I split there." John explained. "Was not pretty."

"I want to talk abuse and creation in our next session Joh. Was Fury created in Afghanistan?"

"No. He wasn't." John said quietly. "He was created when I was about eighteen."

"When Johns Da died." Sherlock said.

"How did Da die?" Sean asked.

"He was....he was..." John stopped.

"The party line? He shot himself after Johns mother overdosed on pills and killed herself." Sherlock said.

"The un-party line?" Sean asked.

The men were silent. Then John said:

"He killed himself when Ma killed herself."

"I know that is not true John."

"I don't know how safe it is here yet." John said, and Sean nodded.

"Any other Alters I should know of?"

"The three new ones." Sherlock said. "Meth, who gets high on cocaine and magic mushrooms, AlterBoy who is the one who got the injuries you see on Johns neck and arms, and there is the Demon Priest. Hamish called him Father Wade."

John jumped.

"You never told me that Sherlock!"

"We have not had a chance to talk about much this last week." 

"But...Sherlock...are you sure Hamish said 'Father Wade'?"

"Yes, John...why?"

"Because Father Wade is a real person. WAS....a real person...."

"Like Robin, John?"

"Nothing like Robin. He was..." John struggled for words. "Sherlock...he was...he hurt...he was not a very nice man."

"Did Father Wade molest you John?" Sean asked.

"No, worse." John said. "He tried to crucify me."

"Oh God...." Sherlock moaned.

"Actually nail you to a cross John, or the metaphorical crucify, punish you for others sins?"

"Punish me." John whispered. "And Father Wade had lots of creative ways to make a person suffer..."

"So this is your Demon Priest John. He is still phishing you for whatever you think you did to deserve it." Sean said.

"I did deserve it." John said "I killed my Da." and he began to shake uncontrollably. "I killed my Da and Father Wade told me all life was sacred and that I had to atone for my sin by taking Statiõns Du Jé Cross and....and....The Blood and The Breath."

"John....my God..." Sherlock whispered.

"He cut me and he strangled me until I passed out." John said then, stating into the middle distance, his hand on his throat. "Just like Father Eden did...."

"John....JOHN...it's okay. I have come across this before." Sean said. "and I am really sorry. Father Wade and Father Eden must have been part of a religious cult known as The Blood and The Breath, very ancient lineage, mutated by power hungry people in the nineteenth century. Cults and cult mentality are an interest of mine. This one is particularly secretive and insidious."

Sherlock groaned.

"Christ almighty! He has suffered so much, now this? When does it stop, for fucks sake, when does it STOP?" he buried his face in his hands and the sight made John begin to cry too, silver tears down his cheeks.

"I am so sorry, for both of you." Sean said, softly. "The good news is, I have dealt with many victims of The Blood and the Breath, and I have an excellent course of action." Sean smiled then. 

She closed the cover of her iPad and slid in behind her on the desk.

"And the first thing we do is have a good cup of tea!"

#


	20. KISS KISS SMACK SMACK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock shows he is under a bit of pressure.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 20: KISS KISS SMACK SMACK

Sherlock laid himself gently over the pliant body of his doctor, stretched out below him on the huge bed. They had finished up at Sean's clinic with a promise to return the next day, gone for a bit of a drive in the MG, had dinner and come home.

Sherlock gently kissed John and John responded just as gently. Soft and loving as it was, it was still deep and languid. Just what John needed. Gentle and loving. John completely relaxed, giving up control to Sherlock, trusting him to take care of him.

The heavy feel of his detectives body made John feel all squirmy inside, and he slid his tongue inside Sherlocks hot mouth. Sherlock moaned lasciviously, and rucked his hips against Johns thighs. John answered with a little thrust of his own.

Sherlock then spent some time gently kissing Johns wounded neck. The gauze had yet to come off, so Sherlock worked around it, and it still gave John a thrill. When the detectives lips and tongue moved lower, John sighed contentedly

Sherlock took his time undoing Johns shirt and laying bare his lovely skin with a hot trail of kisses. His paid some special attention to Johns nipples, his belly button and the interesting scar on his abdomen. 

He flicked the button of Johns jeans open and unzipped his fly. Nice and slowly, licking the skin as it became available.

"Lovely..." John sighed, and lifted his hips to allow Sherlock to divest him of his jeans and pants.

Sherlock stroked the planes of Johns hip with the flat of his hand, smoothing and soothing the skin. The loving gesture made John purr, and when Sherlock took his hard cock in his mouth for kisses and gentle licks his purr became a lovely breathy moan. 

"Sherlock, God, please, put your mouth on me!" 

Sherlock sucked John in softly but deeply and the poor boy could not see for a minute. Then Sherlock proceeded to give John the warmest, wettest, slowest blow job in the history of Blow Jobs. By the end John was quivering and squeaking and begging in tiny puffs of air.

Sherlock finally felt sorry enough for Johns desperation and began to suck in earnest. John lost the power of speech and became a twitchy-hipped slave to Sherlocks mouth.

When he came he tried very hard to call out Sherlocks name but nothing came out. I stead he just kind of gasped back in his throat, and his whole body jerked as he came down Sherlocks long throat.

After that there was hugging and I love yous and sappy snuggling.

It was exactly what John needed.

#

Later in the night Sherlock woke up to see John,or rather AlterBoy, doing his Cross thing in the moonlight streaming into the bedroom.

He didn't mean to, but he snapped.

He practically crash tackled AlterBoy to the wooden floor and slapped him, just once, across his face.

"No no no no,you cannot have him!" Sherlock screamed, wrapping his arms around AlterBoys upper arms and stilling him against the floor. "Stop it stop it stop it! Get out, leave him alone!"

AlterBoys head flopped, and the rest of him collapsed, boneless, under Sherlock. Sherlock panicked suddenly and let AlterBoy go. All that was moving now was Johns eyes, slitted, searching for something, too bright for his face!

"Christ I am so sorry John, please, I am sorry, you scared me, forgive me please....speak to me!" Sherlock whispered, stroking Johns face."John please, I am an absolute idiot!"

"You are." John whispered. "But I love you."

"And you think I am the stupid one." Sherlock smiled. "Are you hurt?"

"No."

"I am so sorry John."

"Was I doing something scary?"

"AlterBoys thing."

"Oh."

Sherlock stood and helped John to his feet. John swayed a little. He was exhausted. Sherlock took him back to bed, resettled him and curled around him protectively.

If only that was all it took to keep John safe.

#

In the morning Sherlock made John breakfast in bed.

He read bits of the newspaper to him.

He made him a cup of tea.

He joined John in a shower and washed his hair for him.

But all of that, even all the time spent soaping John and himself, didn't wash the guilt of last nights actions away.

#


	21. GOOD MAN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johns second session with Sean

COTILLION

CHAPTER 21: GOOD MAN

They drove in the darling MG back to the clinic. John would be attending this second session alone. He was not entirely happy, and the same could be said of Sherlock, but anything, ANYTHING, for John, even if it meant his doctor leaving to face this on his own.

Besides, he had research to do. The Blood and The Breath.

John leant down to kiss Sherlock a hearty goodbye and slid his hand under the warmth of the hair at the nape of Sherlocks neck.

"I love you. Remember to come back and pick me up."

"John, please!" Sherlock scoffed, as if the idea were absurd, but both of them knew it was on the cards is the distraction was shiny enough.

John climbed the three steps to the clinic jauntily and Sherlock roared off with testosterony speed. Well, it WAS a sports car....

John could not help but smile. The man was a dickhead, but he was Johns' dickhead.

#

"So John, I just want you to get comfortable." Sean said.

"How could I not? This couch is wonderful." John smiled and snuggled into the seat. 

"Good. Let me explain a bit about my treatment to you before we get to the heart of your condition, try to tweak you better." Sean went on. She did not have her lab coat on today, her other patient was on a free day, gone out with her mother. She was a live in patient so sometimes it was overwhelming to be in a place trying to get her better day after day. Everyone needed a break now and then.

"Okay" John said, smiling at the word 'tweak'.

"Firstly, drugs of any type are one of my last resorts." Sean said.

"Oh...why?"

"Sometimes the last thing your system needs is a false trail back."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, your psyche has created all these Alters to protect you. Your inner workings already know what is best for you. Drugs are just an easy option and sometimes not the best. It's like being asked to show your work on an essay and then just writing 'oh miss, I used a calculator'."

"Makes sense. I would rather avoid drugs anyway. Meth uses and it really upsets my metabolism." John sighed. "I abhor recreational drugs and some of the anti psychotics are just as bad."

"Agreed." Sean smiled. 

"So what is your course of treatment?"

"Talking, relaxation, sometimes hypnosis."

"Sherlock and I tried hypnosis. Hamish asked us to stop."

"Oh, okay...." she made a quick note on her iPad. "Do you know why Hamish asked you to stop?"

"Because Sherlock was trying to integrate my Alters. It was never going to work. As soon as we shattered it was always going to be me, fragmented. It is like trying to glue back a mirror. It looks the same shape but the cracks are obvious."

"Hamish is right." Sean said. "Sherlock had the very best of intentions but in that case he was incorrect."

"Never ever tell him that! It was bad enough when Hamish pointed it out for him." John smiled. "He is a stubborn man, a proud man, and for him to admit he was wrong..."

"He loves you. Love makes him face his awkward aspects as well as gives him the warm fuzzies." Sean's smile got wider and John barked a laugh.

"I love him too." he smiled wistfully.

"You are very lucky to be facing this with him." Sean said then. "Now, my type of hypnosis is just more a relaxation technique. The Alters who need to speak can bubble up and speak to me, or not, but mostly it is to give your brain a chance to relax. However, the fact that some of your Alters seem repressed by your Priest is a worry. So hypnosis where i ask the Alters to come out and speak is one of the last things I will do, later on in other sessions."

"Oh, okay."

"I would like to try just getting you to think about your breathing. Try this with me. Toss your shoes off and sit cross legged on the couch, like a guru. Seriously, it is a great position for relaxing." Sean said, and John smiled. He toed off his shoes and settled into the couch cross legged.

"Now, sit back, place your arms where they are most comfy and close your eyes."

John allowed himself to flop back onto the couch and wrapped his arms around his stomach. Sean noted this. It was not unusual for new patients to want to protect their bellies and with the notes she had of Johns abdominal injury in Afghanistan she was not altogether surprised that he wanted to keep his innards safe. 

"Okay, slow your breathing down, in through your nose, out through your mouth, in....out...in...out..."

John was not sure how she did it but in fifteen minutes he was more relaxed than he had been in a great many years. It was really refreshing.

"Okay John, can you tell me a recent memory that had you feeling good?"

John smiled.

"Sherlock made me breakfast in bed this morning."

"How lovely! I am jealous." 

John could hear the smile in her voice.

"How do you feel when you remember that?"

"Loved. I feel loved."

"Hold onto that feeling. When have you felt that same loved feeling before?"

"Any time Sherlock's arms are around me. He is tall and warm. He is clever and he protects me."

"Oh lovely!" Sean's voice was so friendly. "Does anyone else make you feel like that?"

"Greg Lestrade. He is very good at his job. Mostly I feel that about him because he looks out for Sherlock. Always has, even before me."

"Lestrade is...?"

"Detective Inspector, New Scotland Yard. He and Sherlocks brother have a thing. They are dating. Don't really know what you would call it but it's cute."

"How do you feel about Sherlocks' brother?"

"He is like a rocky ledge. Stable till you get too close."

"Nice analogy. Does anyone else make you feel unsafe?"

John frowned.

"Anderson. Donovan. Moriarty. My sister Harry."

"who are-"

"Sherlock and I work with Anderson and Donovan. They call us freaks. I rejected Anderson's advances as Fury apparently and now he hates me because he thought it WAS me. Donovan hates Sherlock, calls him a psychopath. He is not. Moriarty is a criminal mastermind, has a crush on Fury, calls him Firecracker, but he has issues. And my sister Harry is an alcoholic. From HER abuse as a child." 

"John, can you think of one particular time, as a child, where you felt safe and loved?"

"No." John instantly said. "Even when Jack and I were playing pirates, or Harry and I were roaming The Tor, always in the back of my mind there was this worry that....It was all so fleeting. Da would come home drunk, or Ma would be having a panic attack, or Jack would be...no, there was no time as a child I would feel safe."

"How about as a teen or young adult?"

"After I killed....after Da...died, I felt calmer. Sure. But the only time I felt real peace after that was in church."

"Which church John?"

"There was a huge church near my cadet barracks. Ancient gold sandstone, beautiful stained glass windows, but warm, despite it hugeness. And silent. It was like getting under a warm duvet, walking into that church. I would go and sit in a pew. And then not think. For hours. Just not....think."

"It sounds lovely John. Is that where you met Father Wade?"

John frowned, and squirmed a bit.

"Yes. He started just nodding when I turned up. He was always shuffling about, doing whatever it is priests do in the church at quiet times. Cleaning brass. Straightening cloths. After a while he would nod and say hello. Then one day he sat in the pew in front of me. Turned to me. And we began speaking......He has a such a lovely low voice, and crinkly green eyes. Silver hair but he is a young man. He is asking me about my day..."

"Go on John, you are doing marvellously."

"He asks if I would like to help him shine the brass candle stands on the altar. I feel strangely honoured and do an exceptional job. He is pleased. Asks me to come back to shine them every week. So I do. And then he gets me to do other odd jobs. Remove cobwebs, restock hymn books, dust the pews. I like the work. It is quiet and I like restoring order."

"He makes tea. He gets me sandwiches. Calls me Johno. My first nice nick name."

John smiled.

"I like him. He is okay."

Then John frowned.

"One day he says to me he thinks something is troubling me. I say no I am fine. He calls me a liar but in a nice way, I am not offended. He gives me wine. It tastes weird but it's alcohol so I am pleased to have it. Feel grown up and being grown up is important. Grown ups have the power and even at eighteen I feel powerless. Then he says...he says..."

John squirmed and hugged himself closer.

"He says he knows my secret." John whispers.

"Does he John. Does he know?"

"He says...he knows what my Da did to me. He says he knows my Da was a bad man, and that what he did to me made me bad. Made me a bad man too. He says he can help make me feel like a good man. And I want that. So. Badly....he seduces me with those words alone. I can make you good. Who does not want that?"

John shook his head.

"He starts slowly. Reads me passages from a pamphlet. How trusting in God and allowing Him to help was the noblest way to regain my goodness. But how sacrifice was needed to be truly good."

John frowned. He clutched his belly tighter.

"The first time he cuts me he says he is bringing out the bad blood, the bad blood part of me, from the infection of Da. It made sense. Das blood was my blood. The cuts hurt. But I see the sense in them....the pattern...."

John bites his lip.

"But when he takes my breath, wraps his Amice around my neck, that is harder. That is scary. I pass out. But when I wake up he is there, soothing me, and I am dizzy, euphoric, I feel great..."

John shook his head and frowned.

"It should not feel this good. But I want this...I want this so much...and he knows it. I come back again and again, he sometimes pretends to bleed me, we practice, he pretends to choke me, we practice. He calls me his vessel..."

John sighs.

"I tell him about Da and he beats me with a leather strap."

John bows his head.

"Yeah, well, I deserve that. I took his life. I deserve whatever it is Father Wade...that father Wade...."

John suddenly shivered and looked about himself. His eyes blink and stares at Sean.

"Sorry, I think I fell asleep."

"You did fine John, do you feel okay?"

"I do..how...oh! You put me under!"

"I did, but you did all the work John."

"How did I do, did I help?"

"You helped a great deal John. I got a great insight into how I can help you."

"Oh, well...okay. I am not sure now I feel about how easily you did that..."

"I am really good at what I do John. But if you don't want me to do it again until you are ready I will hold off."

"um...I am not sure.."

"John, we go at your pace. Okay? Now that is your time up for today. Go take your man out for a nice Devonshire scone. Relax. You have nothing to do but get better, okay?"

John smiled, nodding. He liked how relaxed Sean made him feel.

His phone buzzed.

COMING TO PICK YOU UP. I DID NOT FORGET. WE NEED TO GET TO THE LOCAL POLICE STATION. SOMEONE LEFT SOMETHING THERE FOR US.-SH

"Oh...good timing Sherlock." John said, putting his phone back and shaking Sean's hand.

"Same time tomorrow John." she said and John agreed. 

He walked to the front of the building in time to see the little MG racing towards him, the love of his life at the wheel.

#


	22. GIFTS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a bit of fluff to break up the angst.
> 
> It is fracking hinlarious!

COTILLION

CHAPTER 22: GIFTS

The two men strode into the little Police Station in the village. 

"Consulting Detective Holmes, this is my assistant, Doctor Watson. We were told there was something here for us?"

"Something, aye." The portly Welsh Sargent at the front desk said, rolling back on his chair and standing. "Come with me then." he called over his shoulder: "Constable, mind the front desk then."

They followed the Sergeant down to the cells. Only one was occupied.

"We kept him trussed up. He seems the sort...."

A dark haired man in the cell was hog tied and gagged with some sort of material. His face was damaged and bloody, but John knew who it was.

"Father Eden!"

"What is....that creature....doing here?" Sherlock asked, eyes hardening. The last time Sherlock saw Fr.Eden he was writhing on the ground with three of Sherlocks bullets in him.

"There was a note." The Sergeant said, digging it out of his pocket. He handed t to John. "It was written to Doctor Watson."

John opened it and read it aloud:

"JUST A LITTLE PRESENT FOR YOU DOCTOR WATSON. 

'THOU SHALT NOT TOUCH MY FIRECRACKER.'

HERE ENDETH THE LESSON.

MORIARTY."

"Is he out? Escaped?" John asked.

"Still locked up. He had this done from inside." The Sergeant said.

"Wow...." John said.

"Really John? Wow?" Sherlock turned to John and raised his eyebrow.

"YES wow. Even from inside prison he got this bastard tracked down, hog tied, and delivered to the police station nearest me." John said.

"Is that what it takes to win you John? Big gestures from stalkers?"

"Don't be jelly honey bundle." John grinned. 

"Do be quiet John." Sherlock said, as colour rushed to his cheeks. He turned and swooped off, coat flapping.

"Sherlock...this is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me." John said, clutching the note dramatically to his chest and following his detective.

The Sergeant watched them go. 

"I'll ah...Call The Yard then shall I?"

#

Sherlock thumped John into the wall the second they got back to the cottage, slamming the door with his foot. There was a tearing at clothes, lips all over each other, it was hot, and desperate and quite lovely.

"I should get someone to post me an arch criminal every week!" John panted as they staggered,half dressed,into the lounge room.

"John, don't you dare!"

"Oh, here's fun. James. Do you have your super duper spy camera? We should catch this for Mummy's next birthday dinner."

John froze, clinging to Sherlock who broke the kiss to look over his shoulder.

"It is customary to call before popping over Quintin" he sad.

"We were not expecting to witness such...enthusiasm."

"John...Quintin is here, in case you didn't realise." Sherlock said, and turned John, shirt ripped open and fly halfway down, to say hello.

"Ah, hell-" 

His voice dried in his throat. 

Quintin was not alone.

He had come with a tall, buff blonde with steely ice blue eyes and a cleft chin.

"...eek..." he squeaked, in a manly way, then added: "James fucking Bond...."

"Yes John. " Sherlock deadpanned quickly. "Anything Moriarty can get you I can always one up."

#


	23. SHAKEN AND STIRRED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a snog from Bond and everything is awesome until Q calls him Johno.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 23: SHAKEN AND STIRRED

James Bond was awesome, a truly remarkable man, the best spy the British Secret Service ever had.

And he was a crack up when tiddly.

All four men were full of delivered pizzas and cheese bread, and enough wine to sink a ship. To Johns surprise, Quintin and Sherlock actually got on quite well. John was used to the Mycroft/Sherlock dynamic. Bickering, arguing, nay saying. But Quintin and Sherlock were quite good at friendly sparring. It was entertaining.

But poor John was overwhelmed by the hot blonde suited elephant in the room. Seriously...he had to keep pinching himself. Was he really playing charades with James Bond? Tipsy James Bond? Did he really make James Bond giggle at his charade of The Darjeeling Express?

"Did you actually mime an EEL John?" Sherlock snorted.

"Yes, yes, Darj EEL ing..." John said. "Eel...come on, it makes sense!"

"I have never seen an eel that big John." Bond deadpanned and Q smacked the spy's lovely big buff bicep, bulging out of his rolled up crisp white shirt, then proceeded to snog him heartily.

John clapped his gaping jaw shut and Sherlock snickered.

"Oh seriously, you are jealous of Moriarty but are okay with me perving on Bond?" John whispered to his boyfriend.

"John, seriously, nobody would be stupid enough to be jealous of James Bond, he IS gorgeous. Plus, I would hate to be the poor fool who got between Bond and my brother."

"So are you saying he is my Star Pass?" John grinned.

"It's James' turn!" Quintin said, coming up for air. 

James got up in front of the fire and proceeded to charade.

After they got bored with the game they just sat and chatted. Q had his spy down by the fire, now with his tie loosened and top buttons undone. He had a glass in his hand but he was using it to join in his story, waving it about a bit.

John and Sherlock were on the couch, having a snuggle. John was between Sherlocks long legs, using Sherlocks chest as a cushion, and soaking in every word James said.

"...so then I said to M it was not the ambassadors fault, he was over the limit and that ferret was obviously a Latvian spy!"

They all laughed, and then Bond raised his glass.

"To M."

"To M." they echoed, all raising their glasses.

"Need to go to the little soldiers room." John said then, rolling off Sherlock and staggering to his wobbly legs. 

He knocked over his glass and Q called "TAXI!!!"

"Yeah yeah funny." John snipped as he wobbled his way from the room. He wasn't in long, washed his hands, splashed water in his face, and wobbled back out. He bumped into what he assumed was a tree until it held onto his elbows to stop him falling.

"Alright?" Bond asked.

"Er..yes...yes...fine."

"Have you been with Sherlock long?"

"Few months, yeah."

"Is it going alright?"

"Ah...yes. Yes it is..."

"Love him?"

"Erm...yes, yes I do...."

"Treat him right John and he will give you his soul. I am not joking. I have my own Holmes. They are intense little bastards but so worth the wild ride."

All John could do was nod. Bond was giving his love advice AND was holding his elbows. Hang on, was Bond pushing him back against the wall with the whole magnificent front of him?

He was!

John felt the wall embrace him from behind and he was powerless to resist.

"Sherlock did mention you had quite a crush on me John."

John stared up at Bond with huge eyes. And he nodded.

"He also mentioned something called a Star Pass."

"Oh Shit-"

"JUST FUCKING KISS HIM JOHN!" Sherlock called from the lounge room and he and Q snickered like drunk slutty school girls

And so John magically found himself being snogged by James Bond. His brain buzzed with alcohol and disbelief, especially when double oh seven slipped his tongue in. The whole heavy weight of this magnificent specimen of human was warming him, and the kiss was setting him on fire!

Bond broke the kiss, smiled, and winked one of those beautiful eyes at him.

"Thank you John." he whispered, then with a quick squeeze of his elbows he was gone, back to the lounge room.

"Orright Johno?" Quintin asked and John froze. Johno? That made his head hurt.

Johno, put your arm out.

Johno, give me your throat.

I know your secret Johno....

"You may have to restore the factory settings on your man there Sherlock." Bond quipped and Sherlocks curly head nodded.

"Can you walk John?" he called.

RUN! 

John staggered quietly to the back door and slipped out.

He was running over the field behind the house before anyone realised he had even moved from outside the bathroom.

#


	24. LISTEN TO YOUR TRIBAL VOICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father Wade tries to get John to jump but James Bond says ohhhhh no buddy, John ain't yo bitch!

COTILLION

CHAPTER 24: LISTEN TO YOUR TRIBAL VOICE

John was cold but he didn't care. 

The wind up here was amazing. The sea was still, a full moon shining a silver path he just wanted to walk across. In fact, felt he COULD walk across. 

The single wild old tree trunk he held onto pretended to be stable but it wasn't. It was swaying in the wind, moving, he could feel it under his hands.

JUMP

He whipped his head around. Who had said that? He could see all the way back to the house in this bright moonlight. No-one was coming, no-one was near.

JOHNO JUMP

"No." John whispered. 

Then he realised the voice was coming from inside his own head. It was not his own voice though. He had never heard an Alter before, only on the phone on the boat in Loch Ness. When he had carved Maggot into his thigh. To remind him that Da was a Maggot.

But this was no subtle help from deep in his psyche. This voice was mean and authoritative.

I KNOW YOUR SECRET JUMP JOHNNO BEFORE THEY LEARN IT TOO

This was a demand it was almost impossible to refuse.

JUMP JUMP JUMP JOHNO

"I....don't...want to...." he sobbed then. He was scared, clinging to this swaying tree, his other arm wrapped around his middle. 

JOHNO BEFORE THEY GET HERE YOU HAVE TO JUMP

"Before who-"

And he can hear them calling.

"John!"

"John!!! Stay there!"

"Stand down Doctor Watson!"

THEY ARE COMING JOHNO YOU HAVE NO TIME LEFT YOU HAVE TO LISTEN TO ME YOU HAVE TO JUMP

John reluctantly lets go of the swaying tree and takes two stumbling steps forward, towards the cliff yawning under him. There is dirt and rocks, and grass. Under his shoes. Rattling. It smells of sea. A bird calls.

"John! NO!"

Oh. So. Not a bird. It's Sherlock. No,so what? 

JUMP! The voice screams.

He sets his lips in a straight line, and takes another step forward. Why can't he do this? The voice is so compelling. Why can't he obey?

JOHNO TOO LATE

Something that feels like a freight train smashes into him from the side. He is flying through the air and when he reconnects with the ground the wind is knocked from him. He literally cannot breathe.

"Doctor Watson, what the hell do you think you are doing?" A posh voice demands in his ear.

John cannot answer, he cannot breathe. He is trying but his diaphragm feels paralysed. The blue eyes above him are creased in confusion. 

"James, is he okay?" came Quintins voice and a second later Sherlock is by his side. He skided in the dirt, crashed to his knees and took John up into his arms. 

Quintin reached James and put a shaky hand on the spy's shoulder.

"What the devil is going on?" Bond demanded. "Sherlock...?"

"John has-"

"Father Wade told me to jump." John said then. "I actually heard him, right in my head."

"Fuck!" Sherlock swore.

"Who is Father Wade?" Bond asked.

John sat up, struggling to free himself of Sherlocks arms. He was getting his breath back, he just needed to lean forward. He gasped, bent over his own knees, Sherlock held him up by putting his hand on his back.

"I have Dissociative Identity Disorder James." He gasped, hardly believing he came out with this to James Fucking Bond. "One of my Alters is trying to kill me."

Saying it aloud made John cringe. One of his imaginary friends was so dangerous he wanted to non-imaginarily kill him. 

He groaned sadly. 

Okay, this was a new low. 

And then something wonderful happened.

James Bond pulled John in for a rough hug.

"Fuck John, that's awful. Wish I knew how to kill the bastard."

John actually huffed out a quick laugh.

"Would kind of defeat the purpose. Killing him would kill me and so...he would have won."

"Oh..." said Bond, the nodded. Then laughed.

John joined in.

And suddenly all four men were snickering at the absurd turn their night had taken, then laughed....then they were guffawing like the drunken idiots they were.

"You okay John?"

John nodded, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes.

"Let's get back to the fire, I am freezing." Quintin said then.

"It's because you are a beanpole." Sherlock told him. "No fat reserves."

"That's the pot calling the kettle Skeletor." Quintin said.

Then to Johns fainting bodice ripper Pride and Prejudices hearts surprise, James Bond swept him up and over his shoulder in a fireman's lift and carried him all the way back to the cottage.

#


	25. SORRY I BROKE YOUR ABUSER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond does his Bondian thing.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 25: SORRY, I BROKE YOUR ABUSER

James Bond was naturally not without resources, the greatest of his being his Quartermaster.

So, when John was finally tucked up in bed sleeping with Sherlock curled around him like a Junk Yard Dog, he set his Q and his genius affinity with computers to work.

In fifteen minutes Q had found all he needed to know about Father Wades whereabouts and the best way to infiltrate the hospital he was residing in.

Bond packed his weapon, kissed his Q, and took the Jag.

He returned by sunrise, smiling, hardly a hair out of place.

"Well that was a doodle Quartermaster. I think they may need to up security at the Gwyrew Hospital for the Basically Nuts. I was in and out of there like a greased piston in a Rolls."

"And how is the lovely Father Wade?" Q grinned.

"He was very informative. Sang like a canary Q. Sad to say though, he had an undisclosed heart condition."

"Tragedy."

"Quite final too Quartermaster. Are our love birds stirring?" 

"Not yet."

"I have time for a shower then."

"I have the inclination to join you."

"I would be thrilled if you would Q."

#

When John woke in the morning he felt warm and safe. Sherlock was staring at him and it was a little creepy, but within the parameters of normal for Sherlock.

"Hi." John smiled.

"Hello John." Sherlock crinkled a smile back and kissed his Doctor a light peck on the lips.

"Alright?" John asked, crackling a long luxurious stretch.

"My brother and Bond are doing filthy things to each other in the very thin walled bathroom but apart from they I am fine." Sherlock said. Now he had brought it to Johns attention he too could hear the romance in the shower. 

He chuckled.

"Durrrrrty wee fookers..." he said in a fake Yorkshire accent. "I'm starving, any food?"

"Stop lazing about and lets see." Sherlock leaped out of bed.

John shuffled into the kitchen in his pyjamas, his hair all sticky-up, yawning. Sherlock had boiled a kettle and was just adding the hot water in cups with bags in. He added milk and sugar to his, only milk to Johns, and passed it over.

They sipped, looking at the ceiling and paintings and shiny countertops as the party in the bathroom reached its crescendo.

"Oh God Q you nasty little fucker!" came a raw cry and two moans echoed around the house.

"Lovely tea." John said.

"Yes, thank you." Sherlock said.

"Any plans today, while I am at the clinic?"

"Meeting a man who is a secret cult expert."

"Oh that sounds interesting."

"Should be yes."

Q came into the kitchen then in plain jeans T-shirt and jumper, hair still wet.

"Kettle done?" he asked. 

"Sure, yes, help yourself." John waved to the jug.

Bond strode in then with a look so satisfied that Sherlock practically snarled.

"Tea, lovely." he said, and Q passed him a cup.

"Well gents, Bond had a busy night. Please come to the lounge room and we can discuss it." Q said.

"I don't have much time, I have to be at the clinic in an hour." John commented as they wandered into the lounge room. The fire had been built up by Q before Bond and he had gone for their shower and the room was inviting. John could not help but relax again against his Detective.

"I paid a visit to the real Father Wade." James explained. "Found out a few interesting things. For instance, he advocated the use of magic mushrooms to facilitate the ease of suggestibility."

"That explains the need for Meth as an Alter." John nodded. "And why I could taste colours that time you found Meth at the warehouse Sherlock."

His detective nodded.

"It was definitely not a cocaine high." 

"He also remembers you fondly John." James said, lowering his voice and clenching his jaw, just once. "He said you were The Vessel, until you escaped from his clutches. Apparently that is a great honour in his Blood and Breath cult."

"Forgive me if I do not recognise the honour." John snorted.

"I believe if we find out what this vessel meant, or his role in the ritual, perhaps we could find a way to banish your Father Wade Alter." was Bonds suggestion.

"Did you not ask him?" Sherlock enquired of the spy.

"Unfortunately, Father Wade came down with a terminal case of Heart Attack before I could ask him." Bond said.

"Oh for fucks sake Bond." Sherlock snapped.

"I do tend to get enthusiastic protecting people I admire Sherlock. It is a bad habit of mine." Bond said, in a way that suggested it was far from a habit, more a natural progression. 

Sherlock nodded once.

"I am going to see an expert today." He said then. "I will ask him that very thing."

"And I will try and get Doctor Sean to stop the Alter Father Wade from killing me."John said.

Q's phone buzzed. He looked at it and frowned.

"We have to go James."

"Right you are then." Bond said, getting to his feet. "Sherlock." he said, then bent to kiss Sherlock soundly on the lips. "Doctor." he added, and Frenched John lasciviously.

Sherlock and John were silent until the roar of the Jag disappeared over the hill.

John sighed.

"Not bad, but I bet he can't make a soufflé."

"Don't be stupid John, of course he can."

John paused.

"Smug bastard." 

#


	26. EMPTY VESSEL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlocks hopes are crushed, Johns hope is renewed.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 26: EMPTY VESSEL 

Sherlock was shown into Professor Guilds book filled office at The University of West Wales. He was the closest cult expert to the village. Sherlock did not want to be away from John too long. As it was, he would not be back in time to drive him home from his session with Dr Sean. 

The men shook hands.

"Sherlock, pleased to meet you." he was an older gentleman with a shock of white hair, dark rimmed glasses and a wild Welsh accent. "I am Ianto Guild."

"Thank you for seeing me." Sherlock said.

"I understand you are interested in The Blood and The Breath cult. Very obscure cult, very obscure."

"I did my own research and discovered the background to the cult but I am specifically interested in a part of the ritual called The Vessel."

"Oh, ah, yes yes..." the professor scrabbled about in his vast notes. He disrupted a bowl of pistachio nuts and the husks fell all over the desk. He didn't clean them up and this bothered Sherlock. "There is not a lot about the vessel, which is unusual as they are often referred to as the pinnacle of the ritual...."

"Are they still around, this cult?"

"Oh yes, they are, to a small degree. I have heard of one or two Mad Monks rattling around in Britain. Mostly Southern England, a few in the midlands..." Professor Guild finally found what he was looking for. "Here is a modern translation from the original obscure Spanish dialect."

"May I take this with me?"

"Yes yes, that is your copy. So, how many bodies have you found Detective Holmes?" Professor Guild said then, leaning back in his creaky old chair and tenting his fingers.

"Bodies?"

"Yes, I assumed you found some more Blood and Breath victims."

"Wait a minute, am I to understand this cult kills people?"

"Yes. I assumed you knew. They sacrifice young men, especially those they choose as the vessel. The only ones who seem to survive are the Leader Priests."

"How...are these sacrifices killed?"

"If a young man proves unworthy he is usually choked or hanged."

"Brandon...." Sherlock breathed.

"And the chosen vessel is groomed, sometimes for years. They are never let go, can be chased across countries, the cult is very tenacious." Professor Guild went on. "Is there a reason you are interested in the vessel?"

"A friend...was groomed to be a vessel when he was younger. He is...still suffering." Sherlock said

Professor Guilds eyes went soft.

"I am sorry." he said, softly. "I really am. Try and keep him safe, that is all the advice I can offer you.

Sherlock shivered.

#

"Father Wade tried to get me to jump off a cliff last night." John said, once he and Sean were settled for their late morning session. 

"Oh John, I am really sorry." Sean was genuinely concerned. "Have you thought perhaps you might be better suited to staying here, under our care at all times?"

"Can Sherlock stay?"

"Well, no-"

"It's because we're gay for each other isn't it?" John grinned. Sean smiled a sneaky I-should-not-smile smile. 

"It's because no-one but the patient can stay here." she said.

"Then no. I won't be without him."

"He kept you safe last night?"

"Well, in a way." John smiled. "He knows some awesome people." His smile turned to a grin then. And his little inner fan girl heart fluttered. Ooooo, James Fucking Bond. Squee!

"Tell me about last night."

"Sherlocks brother called me Johno when I was in a highly emotional state. That's what triggered it. Father Wade called me Johno. All the time. I can still remember how good it felt to have someone choose a nick name only he and I used. Poor Quintin had no idea."

"Quintin?"

"Sherlocks brother." 

Sean tapped this into her iPad notes.

"So you actually heard your Alter after that?"

"As clear as if he were next to me. He told me to run, and that soon everyone would know my secret, and when I got to the cliff he told me to jump. It was hard to disobey him. I couldn't as a teen."

"What secret was he talking about?"

"What I did to Da."

"Ah, the big one." Sean nodded. 

"Uh..." John squirmed. "You are bound by some sort of ethics not to tell anyone aren't you?" he asked hesitantly.

"Of course John." Sean said. "But if it makes you feel any better, I have pretty much known all along you killed your Da. Not only that but I am one of those 'no jury should convict you' types. I fully believe that when you killed your abuser, you started to heal. But that is only my opinion. Your inner Wade tries to use your utter guilt over the situation to manipulate you. He is a bastard for doing that of course, but he is a manifestation of the brain washing the real Father Wade did to you."

"Oh..." John said. "Oh..."

"I know, lots to take it there." Sean grinned. "Would you rather I lied and said 'killing is bad and wrong'? 

"No...no...." John shook his head. "But...."

"Yes, all life is sacred. Basic fact. But if anyone had the right to take someone's life you did. He was your abuser. You could only take so much-"

"I did not kill him. Fury did." John whispered.

"Oh...oh! Well, that IS interesting." Sean said. "Makes no difference. The only thing I am concerned for here is your perceived guilt. And as an offshoot of that, the Wade Alters perpencity to ride that train until he gets what he wants. Namely, your death."

"Why do I want to kill myself so much?" John whispered. "Wade is a shattered part of my actual psyche....why does it, and I mean me, want me to die?"

"As I said, guilt. The real Father Wade really did a number on you. That's why your other Alters are scared. I don't even think Hamish created these last three Alters. A locked-down part of your inner workings did. As for why, I don't know yet but when we find out, it will be easy to stop these suicidal thoughts and actions."

"I hope so. Because I want to live. I have a great job, and awesome hobby and Sherlock..." John broke off to smile. 

"And Sherlock." Sean grinned.

"What?" Johns smile matched hers.

"It's really nice to see someone genuinely happy with their partner. I know it is early days for you two but you can hardly have called your first month a Honeymoon Phase can you? Yet here you still are, mad for each other." Sean smiled wider. "Makes me completely sick with jealousy!"

John could not help but grin back a big cheesy grin.

"So...yeah, deep down I really want to live." He said.

"Not only deep down. All over. It is just this one little Alter whom is taking control there"

"How do we stop him?"

"Quite simple really. We call in the big guns."

"Dope me up on really good drugs?"

"Nope. Call back your champion. Mister FuryandtheFear." 

And Sean's smile was so infectious John laughed in glee.

#


	27. SEXTING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John cannot wait until Sherlock comes home so he sends a dirty txt.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 27: SEXTING

Just as Sherlock got into the MG his phone buzzed with a txt. He clicked his seatbelt in and fished the phone out of his coat pocket.

YOU OUT YET? I MISS YOU-JW

Sherlock had only just left the West Wales University library, which was the only quiet place he had found to read the translation that Professor Guild had done for him.

JUST ABOUT TO COME HOME-SH

Sherlock smiled.

John was quite sentimental sometimes. It was something Sherlock admired about him. He wondered how he would feel about what the translation had revealed?

WHAT ARE YOU WEARING-JW

Okay now that was just strange.

YOU KNOW WHAT I HAVE ON, YOU SAW ME DRESSED THIS MORNING-SH

SAW YOU UNDRESSED TOO-JW

ARE YOU FLIRTING WITH ME DOCTOR-SH

I AM HOME ALONE, TOUCHING MYSELF, THINKING OF YOUR GORGEOUS MOUTH DOING FILTHY THINGS TO ME-JW

Sherlock couldn't even start the car now. If he drove with no blood in his brain he was sure he would get arrested or end up twisted around a tree. He just could not risk doing that to a car as lovely as the MG.

He looked around. 

It was dusk. 

No-one around. 

He pressed the Top Up button and the vinyl top of the car whirred up over his head. He rolled up the windows.

WHAT SORT OF FILTHY THINGS? TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT MY MOUTH TO DO-SH

DIRTY KISS ME, USE YOUR TONGUE, KISS ME DEEPLY-JW

Sherlock moaned.

JOHN, I HAVE MY HAND DOWN MY TROUSERS JUST IMAGINING TAKING YOUR MOUTH LIKE THAT-SH 

YOU SHOULD SEE WHERE I HAVE MY HAND-JH

TELL ME-SH

ON MY THROAT, JUST USING MY FINGERTIPS TO STROKE MY SKIN LIGHTLY-JW

Sherlock fluttered his eyes closed and began to stroke himself, gently, teasingly.

NOW I AM MOVING MY HAND DOWN, OVER MY T-SHIRT....RUBBING MY CHEST, PLAYING WITH ONE OF MY NIPPLES OVER THE CLOTH-JW

SHERLOCK, I WISH IT WAS YOU-JW

Sherlock moaned again.

STOP NOW. I CAN BE HOME IN AN HOUR.-SH

John took a while to answer.

CANNOT STOP. TELL ME WHAT YOUR MOUTH IS DOING TO ME-JW

Sherlock took a minute to gather himself, pausing in his stroking.

I AM PRESSING MY LIPS TO THAT SPOT ON YOUR NECK THAT DRIVES YOU INSANE-SH

GOD SHERLOCK YES WHAT ELSE?-JW

I LIKE TOUCHING YOU THERE, YOU MAKE SUCH LOVELY NOISES-SH

YOU WRITHE SO PRETTY UNDER ME-SH

His brain paused while he thought of that for a while. 

SHERLOCK FUCK YOUR MOUTH YOU ARE SO GOOD WITH IT. KISS ME-JW

I COULD KISS YOU FOR HOURS-SH

And he could. John gave all of himself when he kissed. No wonder James Bond was okay with trying it. 

Sherlock moaned thinking about Bond kissing his doctor, taking those lips in his, the lips Sherlock loved so much, and Bond realising Sherlock was the luckiest man on earth to have John all for himself.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO YOUR COCK?-JW

SOFTLY STROKING THE WHOLE LENGTH. MY HAND IS GENTLY GRIPPING IT. TEASING MYSELF.-SH

CAN YOU PICTURE MY TONGUE ON YOUR COCK SHERLOCK, LICKING IT, TEASING THE SLIT TASTING YOUR SWEETNESS-JW

"Holy Christ....." Sherlock moaned. He could picture that, recalled what it felt like to have Johns mouth pulling at his cock.

HURTING MY NIPPLES PICTURING YOUR TEETH-JW 

"Ffffffuuuuuu......" Sherlock could hardly hold his phone he was trembling so much.

I LIKE HURTING YOU JUST A LITTLE YOU TURN INTO A WHORE FOR ME-SH

YOU DRAG WHORE NOISES FROM ME YOU DEVIANT FUCK-JW

SUCK ME HARDER JOHN-SH

I AM HOLDING THE BASE OF YOUR COCK AND SUCKING YOU DEEP INTO MY THROAT.-JW

Sherlocks hand gripped himself harder, and he stroked himself faster, spreading his thighs a little. He could picture Johns blonde head below him, his mouth all over him. 

"God...so close..."

JOHN CAN'T LAST MUCH LONGER-SH

COME FOR ME SHERLOCK-JW

Sherlock pressed call. When Johns breathless voice answered all Sherlock could do was gasp down the line as he came.

"John..John John..."

"Christ!" he heard John moan and then he too was making delicious coming sounds deep in Sherlocks ear.

There was panting for a minute and then Sherlock said:

"I will be home in thirty minutes."

#


	28. SPANISH TRANSLATION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has fears

COTILLION

CHAPTER 28: SPANISH TRANSLATION

Sherlock was home in thirty-five minutes (there was a sheep incident near a bridge, all sorted, no-one hurt or dead), pinned his John to a wall and kissed him like he was oxygen. 

John responded in kind, both men almost instantly hard and desperate for naked. Quick stripping of clothes, kicking said clothes into a pile, and falling onto the couch for mutual blow jobs.

Then Sherlock took John roughly, pounding him into the couch, biting out his name and creative swears as he came deep inside his pliant moaning Doctor.

A cuddle followed, then an almost quick but handsy shower, noodle dinner with a glass of red wine.

Finally they sat by the fire to chat about their day.

"Sean has explained that encouraging my tougher Alters out to deal with Father Wade is the way to go." John explained.

"It worked with Moriarty." Sherlock said. 

"But Moriarty was in lust with Fury. Wade just wants to kill me."

"Fury is so damn strong John." Sherlock said, reaching out to hold Johns hand. "I am sure he is stronger than Wade. We just have to get him out."

"I have to overcome my guilt first though." John explained.

Sherlock nodded.

"Only time will help with that." he said. 

John grinned.

"That is exactly what Sean said." he commented. "She is giving me relaxation techniques to try and encourage a dialogue with Hamish and the strong Alters. Hopefully that will work. What did you discover?"

Sherlock reached over John to the coffee table. John bit Sherlocks throat playfully and Sherlock gasped, looking at John darkly.

"John..." Sherlock choked. "Fuck...don't distract me."

John just smiled, then batted his eyelashes like a Southern Belle. Sherlock kissed his lips, biting the plush bottom lip a little, then sat back, Professor Guilds translation in his hand.

"The professor was very helpful." Sherlock said. 

John put his hand on Sherlocks thigh and nodded, very seriously. But his eyes twinkled. He was feeling frisky.

"He gave me this translation on the role of The Vessel." Sherlock went on. Johns fingertips began circling Sherlocks inner thigh. Sherlock pretended not to notice. 

"As far as I can see once The Vessel is proven worthy, and this can take years, he is then filled with the spirit and cut and strangled."

"So, get him drunk and kill him?" John said, frowning, hand paused in it's ministrations.

"I cannot really tell what The Spirit is, but yes. In the end, he dies."

"Shhhhheeeeit." John swore, and fell back, teasing forgotten. "He was going to kill me in real life, and he is still trying to kill me. Fuck my psyche."

"It says that many cups fill the vessel so I am thing it is a ritual cup, perhaps with sacrificial wine or blood in it." Sherlock went on, staring at the document, not noticing John was getting a bit uncomfortable. "Maybe thirteen of them. That is how many Leader Priests are present at the ritual."

"So I would have been either so completely drunk or glutted on blood I would not have know I was dead."

"John, he got you, or your Alter, to bleed your own blood and be strangled to unconsciousness who knows how many times. He was a predator and you were susceptible to his manipulations. You were vulnerable and unloved, he chose very well..."

"Love..you are tearing the paper." John whispered, touching Sherlocks arm gently. Sherlock looked at his hand which was gripping the document so hard his fist almost cramped. He unleashed his hand and the paper fell. 

"He was such a bastard John. I am glad Bond killed him." Sherlocks eyes were shiny as he massaged blood back into his hand. "I am only cross I didn't get to put the boot in as well."

"You are so sweet." John smiled, only half joking.

"John, I love you so much." Sherlock said, face serious. "I love your messed up personalities. I adore who you as a person. John...never leave me. When you were running to that cliff...if Bond hadn't...John, it scares me!"

"Sher-"

"Make him stop John. You can do it. Make that fucker stop hurting you!" Sherlock said and broke down. He covered his face with his long fingers, sobbing.

John instantly gathered his detective to him, arms tight around Sherlocks hitching shoulders. 

"I will try my fucking best Sherlock, I promise I will. Once we unleash Fury, all hell will break loose." John whispered.

Sherlock couldn't really say anything but was pliant enough to be led to bed and allow John to kiss him until the tears stopped and the lust began.

#


	29. VESSEL FOUND

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return of Hamish

COTILLION

CHAPTER 29: VESSEL FOUND

Sherlock woke that night to Johns side of the bed empty. From the lounge room he heard clicks and thumps which sounded familiar but he got up to explore anyway. 

He threw on his robe and shuffled out. He lent against the doorway to the lounge room and took in the scene.

John was sitting at Q's delicate desk, his gun in pieces in front of him. Around his head was a black cloth which could have been one of Johns T-shirts. John held in his hand a stopwatch. He clicked in and proceeded to put all the bits of his gun together in precise and regular order. He then lifted the blindfold and clicked the stopwatch. He slumped.

As he began to take his weapon apart again Sherlock stepped into the room

"John are you field stripping your handgun blindfolded?" he asked. 

John ignored him. It was as if he didn't hear him. Sherlock tensed. He knew then it was an Alter. But which one?

The Alter repeated his actions. Blindfold down, stopwatch, reads led the weapon, blindfold up, stopwatch off.

"FUCK!" he smashed his hand on the table then flexed his fist.

"John...." Sherlock said softly.

"Not John." a gruff voice said. It sounded familiar. Hands reached for the gun again.

" Who..."

"It's HAMISH!" Hamish roared, slamming his hands on the desk again and turning to glare at Sherlock. 

"Fuck, Hamish." Sherlock jumped. "What-"

"I am trying to get control here Sherlock. It's so fucking hard. Wade has his tendrils everywhere. SleepingJohn woke me tonight because John tried his new relaxation techniques before he slept. He gave us a chance." Hamish paused. "I took it." 

He turned to look at Sherlock and the detective could see how much of a battle it was for the Alter to stay inTheBody.

"I have such a slim hold..." Hamishs' hands gripped the desk and he shuddered. "I tried to get Fury here but Fury is so angry he is just a boiling cloud of...." Hamish shuddered again. "He told me we need to get battle ready and this..." he waved at the desk helplessly "USELESS ACTION is all I can think of!"

"Hamish...fuck..."

"What Sherlock? What!" 

Sherlock knelt, grabbing Hamish by the back of the neck and pressing his forehead to the Alters brow.

"Fuck I missed you."

#

The twelve Leader Priests gathered in the darkened alcove of the tiny church. Assembled in a semi circle they all bowed when The Elder entered. 

They each held ceremonial flaming torches above their heads.

All faces were cowled but they knew who they all were in society. The cowls were for symmetry and secrecy within the walls of this, the only church left devoted to their cult.

Teachers, mechanics, a vet, a retired policeman, and on and on...all outwardly normal men with normal lives, wives, families, jobs, mortgages, dogs and cars. 

Normal men but for this one thing.

They were all members of The Blood and The Breath.

Every one of the Leader Priests had cut and strangled many acolytes. Some had even killed. All had been looking for The Vessel.

None had found him.

But then The Elder spoke.

"The Vessel has been found." he rumbled.

The answering call from the gathered men was like an unearthly moan from deep underground.

Only the flames flickered for a long time after that.

#


	30. SPIRIT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock discovers what Spirit is.
> 
> (For those readers who are reading as I write, please go back to chapter 26 as I added a line about pistachio nuts. This is important).

COTILLION

CHAPTER 30: SPIRIT

Sherlock dropped John off at the clinic with a long slow departing kiss then drove back home. He was determined to get the whole story of this translation. He had a feeling it was really important.

Sitting at the desk Hamish had been at the night before, Sherlock went through every line of the document. 

Minutely. 

The only thing that really caused him niggling worry was the word "Spirit".

"What could spirit be? Alcohol possibly. Manifestation of a being who has died. Less likely. Joy of life. Well, magic mushrooms didn't really make Meth happy..." he pondered. 

"It says specifically FILLED with the spirit. Filled filled filled....that seems important...."

He began to pace. He didn't open his whole mind palace up, that was too confusing, he opened up a mere wing, a wing devoted to rituals of a spiritual kind.

"Not alcohol, that would dull the effect of the magic mushrooms. Why use magic mushrooms? They have a reputation for opening the mind, they give the user hallucinations, usually pleasant so...what is happening is not pleasant...the vessel needs to be relaxed and happy, compliant."

He paused. A sudden growing fear hit him.

"Magic Mushrooms are also a muscle relaxant. So, pleasant feelings, muscle relaxant...Spirit...thirteen...think think think!"

He fisted his hair and shook himself. And then...

"Ah..."

'Spirit' in that strange obscure Spanish dialect also meant 'seed'.

"Filled with seed..."

Sherlock went pale.

"The vessel will be filled with seed..."

He dry retched.

"Jesus...."

Sherlock gathered his coat and scarf, texting John as he went.

VESSEL GANG RAPED BY THIRTEEN LEADER PRIESTS BEFORE BEING BLED AND STRANGLED. COMING TO PICK YOU UP NOW. WE NEED TO SEE PROFESSOR GUILD-SH

He could go see the Professor on his own but he needed to see his John, have him with him. John had so narrowly avoided this ghastly fate but, as the cult were still active, someone was being groomed right now to be The Vessel. Some poor unloved vulnerable man being bled and fake strangled, held not against his will but being manipulated into agreeing with the sick ritual just to be touched and held and proven useful. 

It was despicable.

Sherlock made it to the clinic five minutes before his regular meeting time. He waited in the waiting area for ten minutes before Dr Sean came out.

"Oh, Sherlock, did you want to see me?"

"I am here to pick up John." he said, standing. Sean looked confused.

"He left about fifteen minutes ago Sherlock. Said he would wait out the front for you. He had a tough session today, much shorter, but I understand Hamish-"

"Where did he say he would wait?" Sherlock asked rudely.

"Out the front." Sean waved. They could both see the entrance to the clinic. John was not there and had not been there when Sherlock turned up.

The detective ran outside, looking frantically around.

"John!" he called.

Sean raced to the coffee room. 

No John. 

She looked in all the counselling rooms. 

He was not there.

Outside, Sherlock stalked to the side of the clinic, where a lovely garden grew. John was not there either.

John was gone.

"He is definitely not here Sherlock" Sean puffed, hurrying to his side.

Sherlock was staring at the grass at his feet.

Pistachio nuts.

Click click click.

Pictures flicked through his head. Where had he seen pistachio nuts recently? Then he had it. 

Spilled on the desk at West Wales University.

"Professor Guild!" Sherlock hissed, and raced for the MG.

#


	31. HELLO FURY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean meets Fury, Hamish and Wade.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 31: HELLO FURY

One Hour Ago:

"I got Hamish to come out last night." John told Sean, as he settled in the couch.

"Oh, wonderful. You tried the relaxation technique?"

"I did, but I was already pretty relaxed." John grinned. Sean just raised her eyebrows, she knew what that meant. 

"And how did it feel, letting those Alters back out?" Sean asked.

"I have no personal memories but Sherlock said Hamish was field stripping my gun at a desk."

"Oh, 'ready for peace, prepared for war'." Sean quoted. John looked a bit confused. "old Irish Republican Army saying. Go on."

"Hamish explained to Sherlock that I was so relaxed SleepingJohn 'woke Hamish up...' ", John made air quotes with his fingers, "and Hamish took the time to try and be ready for any confrontation. Sherlock said he could see it was a struggle for Hamish to stay focused but doing that little thing, putting the gun back together, seemed to keep him grounded, kept him in the forefront."

"Oh that's-"

"USELESS USELESS USELESS!" a deep voice roared from Johns throat, making Sean jump." Am I the only one boiling with fucking anger at these cunts?"

"Ah...who am I talking to?" Sean asked then, her voice soft. This was the first time she had actually seen any of Johns Alters.

"Fury. I am fucking Fury. And I AM Fury!!!" Fury spat, fists clenched, body practically leaping off the couch while still in a seated position. "The fuck are we doing, hiding from a fucking Priest and his bum boy? I have killed and injured bigger fish than him!"

"Fury, I am so glad you are here!" Sean said.

"Not here long. Wade reckons he will assimilate Robin if I am out too long."

"The little Alter?"

"Yeah, the little one. What sort of fuck threatens a fucking child? Jesus-" 

Furys eyes fluttered and then opened. John sat taller, his face calmer.

"I am pleased to finally meet you Dr Shay-Sean Macleod." said a lovely modulated voice. His hand was thrust out and Sean shook it. "I am Hamish."

'Well...' Sean thought '...Sherlock was right about this Alter. He is well dishy!...'

Sean smiled.

"VERY pleased to meet you Hamish." she said.

"I want to thank you for showing TheBody this new path. It worked so well last night. It was lovely to see Sherlock again. I really missed him." Hamish smiled. "I have a feeling with a few more sessions we can-"

Hamish jumped as if shocked, and then his eyes went almost all pupil.

"Leave this vessel alone!" the voice hissed. Sean swore. This must be Wade, Demon Priest. Fuck, now this bugger was scary!

"What do you want with John?" Sean asked, voice still an easy soft tone.

"The Vessel is ours." Wade said "The Vessel is OURS!!!!"

Wade fell back against the couch and his eyes closed. Johns chest rose and fell and his body slowly relaxed. In three minutes he was back, sitting up, blinking.

"Erm..." he said. Sean looked worried.

"Did you...do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Push Wade out?"

"Wade was here? Oh I am so sorry, did he hurt you?"

"No...he seemed...incapable of it, like...he was being held back. John, I think your two stronger Alters are getting control back. Fury and Hamish. I met them both just now, before Wade."

"How are they?" John asked, concerned. He had never met these Alters but he loved them just the same. They were part of him and he needed them.

"Fury was angry." Sean explained

"He always is."

"Yes, but this anger was controlled."

"It is always directed at something specific." John explained.

"I can see that he is a good man to have at your side." Sean smiled. "But poor Hamish seemed frustrated, and a bit scared."

"He is used to having more control." John said. 

"And Wade was furious. He was angry that I was interfering with his perfect world. John, I believe we have Wade on the run. Only a few more sessions and I think you may be able to integrate or assimilate the three you are worried about, or dispel them altogether as you have done with others, like Smartie."

Johns phone buzzed then. He ignored it. But it reminded him of Sherlock. And right then, that very second, he wanted to go home with Sherlock, be held and loved and...stuff.

"I want to end for today." he said. 

And Sean nodded.

"That may be best. Remember to breathe and relax,and maybe with Sherlock tonight you could try and get Hamish out again."

"Maybe..." John shook Sean's hand a little absentmindedly.

When John got outside he stood a little off to the side in the grass and pulled out his phone.

VESSEL GANG RAPED BY THIRTEEN LEADER PRIESTS BEFORE BEING BLED AND STRANGLED. COMING TO PICK YOU UP NOW. WE NEED TO SEE PROFESSOR GUILD-SH

He smiled. He was glad Sherlock was coming early. He sighed and looked up at the sky.

He barely felt the syringe sting his neck before the world closed in and went dark.

#


	32. VESSEL EXPLODES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, those stupid Priests have no idea who is in their midsts...

COTILLION

CHAPTER 32: VESSEL EXPLODES

AlterBoy stroked the silky white robes he was wearing. He loved the feel of the material on his fresh washed skin. He lay still on the pallet waiting to be called. Everyone had been so nice since he woke up in this place. Friendly hands and lovely eyes. 

And the yummy cake and wine. So lovely. He was not sure why they were celebrating but any celebration was nice. The cake tasted a bit strange though.

Father Wade and Father Eden had always given him wine, he recalled. Father Wade had said it made his lips blush and he had giggled at that. He was sorry he had run away from Father Wade but Fury had told him to. Luckily Father Eden had picked up the pieces. And then Father Wade was back INSIDE him!

How lucky...he sighed.

What would he be good for if he were not The Vessel?

He was very relaxed. His breathing became very even. That was strange but he liked it.

He stretched luxuriously, the silk robe rubbing deliciously on his naked body beneath. How long had he been here in the alcove? Maybe a while. He was very sleepy before he got the food, now everything was pretty and colourful. He flopped. He loved feeling so boneless. So relaxed.

"Vessel, are you ready?" came a soft voice in his cell. A cowled figure bent over him, with a flickering flaming torch held above his head, despite the low electric light in the room. 

AlterBoy blinked. Then he smiled.

"That's right sweetheart, it is time." the voice said, and it sounded smiley. The robed person helped AlterBoy to his feet.

"Sleepy..." he mentioned.

"Then thank you for waking up. We need you now."

AlterBoy smiled. Needed. Lovely.

He was lead through stony tunnels. His feet were cold. But when he got to the Altar room he was pleased at now warm it was. He smiled as all the robed figures bowed.

The Elder came forward and grasped his hands.

"Welcome Vessel. How honoured we are that you are here tonight."

AlterBoy smiled up into the dark shadow of The Elders face.

"Tonight all your years of preparation will be put to use. You are perfect, my sweet, and ready for us. Through you, our vessel, will come power greater than we have ever dreamed. Thank you, Vessel. We love you."

AlterBoy smiled again, a nice lazy smile.

Then The Elder led him to the simple sandstone altar. On it was a bowl, two candles and a cincture of what appeared to be pure gold but was actually a hardier metal. The human throat was quite strong. Strangling it with gold would not work as it was too soft a metal.

The Elder pressed softly on AlterBoys shoulder and he felt himself drop to his knees. All this was expected. Then The Elder began to pray in Spanish. AlterBoy dropped his head in reverence.

STOP THIS

AlterBoys eyes flew open. Who had said that? That was not part of the ritual. His heart began to pound. 

YOU MUST STOP THIS

"Who is that?" AlterBoy whispered. His voice could not be heard over the rumbling prayers as all the Leader Priests joined in with The Elder.

IT'S HAMISH. YOU KNOW ME. IF YOU KEEP GOING YOU WILL DIE.

The Elder lifted AlterBoy and set him on his feet.

"Statiõns Du Jé Cross my lovely one." he whispered. Now this AlterBoy knew by heart!

He began his ritual dance, scribing the imaginary cross on the ground. 

STOP. RUN. NOW.

AlterBoy faltered. Then knelt and put out his arm. One of the Leader Priests cut him with the bone dagger reserved for just this night. He staggered to his feet and continued.

SAVE YOURSELF.

AlterBoy sobbed, confused, but he continued. The Elder was pleased with his tears. He was proving to be a very good Vessel indeed. 

Another cut, another dance.

STOP....

AlterBoy ignored this voice but the movements he had practiced for years were becoming wooden.

YOU ARE GOING TO DIE

Another cut, another sob. He continued, shaking now. The Elder nodded. The raw emotion was good, left the Vessel more open to power and The Elder needed power.

The last cut on his arms and he paused, kneeling. Then he brought his writs together, blood dripping from his hands. Sobbing, he let his head drop back.

IF YOU DON'T RUN NOW THEY WILL RAPE YOU AND KILL YOU YOU STUPID BITCH! 

"Be quiet!" AlterBoy sobbed and the whole room stood stock still. All that could be heard was AlterBoys choked sobbing. The Elder had no choice but to continue however. He was passed the bone dagger and moved behind his Vessel.

The second the blade touched AlterBoys throat his hand slammed up and grabbed The Elders wrist. He had made no conscious decision to do this. It was if someone else was in control of him.

"Vessel...I need to continue the ritual." The Elder said softly. 

He was not ready for his arm to be jerked painfully forward and then to be flipped over the Vessels head to land, knife free, on his back, wind knocked from his chest. He lay gasping, unaware that the moisture raining down on him a few seconds later was the blood of his Leader Priests.

The Vessel roared as he engaged in a different ritual. He laughed at the irony that The Blood and the Breath would be washed in blood themselves. And of course, their breath was stolen too, just as they had planned to do to AlterBoy, as they had done to Brandon and countless others.

In three minutes eight of the Leader Priests were dead, and four were mortally wounded. 

That was always a problem for Priests. All words, no fight. Plus, they had been totally taken by surprise.

The Elder, who had got his breath back, rolled and stood, staring at the carnage in absolute disbelief. All his Leader Priests, all the blood pooling and running, the harsh gasps of the nearly dead, and the bloodied horror standing in front of him, white robes streaked in red, bone knife clutched in his fist, in the readied stance of a fighter.

He slowly removed his cowl, revealing the blanched face of Professor Guild. For a second he thought the ritual had worked, and this was the being he had expected to come and, admittedly, possess HIM, but yes of course, he could possess The Vessel he supposed. The translation had been a bit obscure.

But one look into those eyes told a different story.

"Who...ARE you?" Professor Guild breathed.

"I am The Fury..." Fury spat, turning to fully face the terrified Elder. He backed away from this creature only to be stopped cold by the altar behind his back. Fury raised the knife.

"No no please!" Guild begged, raising his arm to protect his face as the other clawed at the stone to keep himself upright.

"I am The Fury...." Fury spat again. "And this time....YOU are The Fear."

The knife plunged down again and again. The Altar was splashed with blood and the room was filled with high screams of pure terror, then the pungent odour of a bladder evacuated.

Fury did not stop until his arm finally gave out. By then all that was left was bloodied meat and pools of liquid. 

The priests had all fallen silent. 

The candles flickered.

Finally the bone knife dropped and Fury fell to his knees, exhausted and bloodied.

His body twitched. Then it convulsed. Then it fell forward onto the bloodied floor and seized. Had anyone seen it they would not have known that they had just witnessed the death of three unwanted Alters in a Dissociatives body.

Fury keened in triumph.

It was this unearthly cry that finally led Sherlock to the correct crypt.

#


	33. THE PISTACHIO PROFESSOR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds John

COTILLION

CHAPTER 33: THE PISTACHIO PROFESSOR

Dr Macleod was sent to call the local constabulary while Sherlock txt Lestrade to keep him and Mycroft in the loop.

He then leaped into the MG and sped to the University.

He swooped in like a feral bat with his hair wild, his cape flying, his demands curt and rude.

Professor Guilds secretary said the Professor was away at his country house. 

Yes, he went every month.

No, she had no idea if it had a private church on the grounds.

No, she must insist he not go into the Professors office, oh, well, as you are already in you may as well- yes, there are maps, yes I can bring them. 

Sherlock used his deductive eyesight in the office and in thirty eight seconds he had deduced that Professor Guild had left in a hurry that morning. It was all looking very suspicious indeed.

He crumbled a fistful of pistachios in frustration, the shells crumbling onto the carpet.

The secretary came in with maps to the country estate that Professor Guild owned. Sherlock rolled them along the desk and quickly deduced that yes, there was a small private church known as St Broods on the ground.

He needed no more incentive than that. He txt both Sean and Lestrade, hopped in that MG and roared off.

It took almost two hours to get to the country manor. 

There were no lights on and it had started to get dark.Rain began to fall so Sherlock switched on his penlight torch and began to sweep the grounds. He remembered where the church had been on the map and silently made his way through the cold, dark rain.

Finally he made out a golden glow in the misty rain ahead. Creeping forward he could see a small church with its doors slammed closed.

He crept closer. He pressed himself to the door but he could hear nothing. He took a chance on the door and was happy to see it creak open. He slipped inside.

The church itself was tiny but to the right was a door that was ajar. Yellow light flickered from it. It was the only sign of life so Sherlock slid towards it.

That was when he heard the inhuman keening. He froze, heart thumping in his chest, and then, against his better judgement, he kept creeping forward. He had no weapon but the torch and his own hands but it was enough if John were in danger.

Suddenly he heard stumbling footsteps coming towards him from the crypt. He tensed and almost screamed when the blood covered man fell from the door and into the church itself. 

Wild eyes, filthy hair,long white shirt covered in blood and dirt, Sherlock was unsure for a minute who it even was. It was only when the man paused, his arms hugging his shaking chest, that Sherlock came to the realisation that this was his doctor. 

This was John!

"Sherlock-" the creature choked, voice husky and wobbling with the spasms rocking his filthy body.

"Christ, John!" Sherlock cried, ditching the torch and running forward to catch his friend in his arms just as Johns legs gave out. 

"Fury...Fury killed...don't go down to the crypt..." John chattered, staring wild eyed at Sherlock. Sherlock stripped himself of his coat with difficulty as he had hold of John. He carefully wrapped his Doctor and then held him close. John gave up trying to speak then and burrowed into Sherlocks chest, feeling safe. Finally safe.

Sherlock txt Lestrade straight away but by then the local police had arrived. Sherlock answered questions on Johns behalf, just the basics, names, ages, occupations. As to what happened, Sherlock could only wave his hand to the crypt door.

Not one of the constabulary came up from that crypt unaffected, and many ran out just to throw up before going back down again. Finally an ambulance arrived hot on the heels of Doctor Shay-Sean MacLeod. 

She talked Sherlock into letting her take care of John. Her care of him and is DID was going to be the pinnacle in any case that was brought against him, although all the police were convinced no one man could have caused the mayhem down in that vault.

As John was whisked away Sherlock heard a helicopter land in the open field next door. When Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade strode in Sherlock was not surprised. 

However when he bypassed his brother and fell into Lestrades arms, sobbing, the word surprised took on a whole new level of meaning.

Greg Lestrade had never been so thankful to have been anywhere in his life ever before than to be there, in that church, and able to hold up a flagging Great Detective as he crumbled. 

Even if all he could do was hold him as his own sobs took him.

#


	34. GONE BABY GONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was not molested.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 34: GONE BABY GONE

When John finally woke up from a very long sleep he found himself in hospital. It only took a second for the recent events to catch up to him and he sighed in discomfort. His arms were once again bandaged.

"John, hi, you're awake." 

He turned his head to see Dr Sean smiling at him. She was quite comfortably laid back in the hospital chair, arms crossed, legs up on his bed. 

"Is Sherlock..." he asked, straight away.

"In the hall talking to a guy with an umbrella and that dishy Detective Inspector from New Scotland Yard."

"Oh...that's his brother Mycroft. The guy with the umbrella. Not the dishy Inspector. That's Lestrade."

"Figured. The brothers have similar noses. Mycroft is not as relaxed as your Sherlock though is he?"

"Should have seen the pair of them when I first met Sherlock. You would swear a war was about to start."

"Oh, right, they are much better now." Sean grinned and John smiled.

"So, what's wrong with me, why am I here?" he said then. 

"Basically, exhaustion, and your cuts were a bit deeper this time. No stitches however. The doctors here wanted you just to rest. I am merely here to smooth over what happened in the crypt."

"What did I do?" John whispered. 

"Not you, Fury. John, Fury saved your life. I have never seen such destruction wrought by one man than I did in those crime scene photos. This is what will keep you out of any trouble with the police. They just cannot see how one man could have done it. John, I would rather not tell them about your DID. I think it will hinder your progress. So for now, if you don't mind, plead ignorance."

"Are you saying lie?" John asked.

Sean shrugged. "Well, yeah." she said, as if it were obvious. "Lie."

John nodded. He remembered what he saw, briefly, in that crypt. Yeah. He would lie. He did not what to go to prison for something like that. He would never get free!

But he was concerned. He had inside him an Alter that could take out a room like that. Destroy whole humans in a heart beat. Even to protect himself this seemed a bit much.

"How far..." John asked then and swallowed over a knot of fear.

"What do you mean?"

"How far into the ritual had they gone before Fury attacked?"

"I have no idea. Is that important?"

John was feeling the bandages on his arms but there were none on his neck. This reassured him somewhat. They had not taken his neck blood and so....he hoped....nothing else had happened. He hoped...

"It's fine, they didn't even cut my neck." he babbled, sounding like an idiot. He would ask Sherlock about the spirit-seed thing instead. Less embarrassing.

"John, just tell me one thing then I'll get Sherlock for you." Sean said.

"Sure."

"Wade, Meth and AlterBoy...have they gone?"

Johns eyes were wide. And slowly, he nodded. 

"They have gone. I think Hamish..." he paused, eyes dancing the room as he searched inside himself. "I think Hamish MADE them go. And I don't even think he created them in the first pLace. My guilt did, and now...well, I don't hear them. I hope they never come back, but I feel sorry that it ended like this for AlterBoy. He was such a vulnerable part of me, just wanted love. It seems a bad end for him, somehow."

Sean shrugged. "Way I see it, he has peace now. Never has to be pressured into doing The Ritual."

John nodded.

Sean got up and gave Johns arm a squeeze.

"I'll get Sherlock for you now. He and I have decided to give you a bit of a break, counselling wise. I come to London every month so I will see you in about two weeks. We can go from there."

"Oh OK. thanks Doctor Macleod."

After she had left Sherlock came waltzing in, face flushed from dealing with his brother.

"John." he smiled, grabbing both of Johns hands and leaning in for a chaste kiss. "How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad. How are you?"

"Incensed at my idiot brother as always. He is insisting we try anti-psychotic drugs for you. I wanted to smash his teeth in but I settled for name calling instead."

"Thank you love." John smiled. 

"Any word from Inner Wade and the others?"

"Gone." John insisted.

"Excellent. Perhaps Hamish will come out to play a bit more now?"

"So you can grab his arse and fuck him by the fire again?"

"Maybe. John, the man is irresistible." Sherlock raised his eyebrows but kept a straight face. 

"PAH, you just love him for his brain."

"Yes, his brain. And his spankable arse."

"Like to see you try and spank him."

Sherlock grinned then.

"Challenge accepted."

He lent in for a deeper kiss then. 

"Pervert." John whispered.

#


	35. HAMCROFT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was asked for by many readers.
> 
> Mycroft meets Hamish, Hamish let's Mycroft know that he is a total arse, Mycroft takes that onboard, but is this a change of heart from Mycroft?
> 
> Then there is the strangling, of course....
> 
> Holmes brothers are weird.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 35: HAMCROFT

One thing John hated about coming home to London, to Baker Street, was the complete and total lack of milk. 

So naturally he found himself taking a jaunt to Tescos.

It was only when he was around the corner that a long black car pulled up and the door opened.

"Get in the car, Doctor Watson."

"Mycroft Holmes, how lovely to see you." John said, not bothering to argue but sliding into the car and closing the door behind him.

He seated himself opposite Sherlocks brother and the car drove off again.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" John asked then, although he already suspected what Mycroft wanted to say.

"Doctor, I am a patient man, but your stubbornness is quite vexing."

"My stubbornness in what? Persistently schtoinking your delectable brother?" John smiled.

"No Dr Watson, and I would prefer not to hear details of your sordid private life with my brother." Mycroft looked a tiny tad abashed, but went on. "I am talking about your particular....peculiarities."

"I assume you are talking about my Dissociative Identity Disorder Mycroft."

"Do you have any other peculiarities Doctor? Yes, I am of course talking about your Multiple Personalities." 

"Archaic term Mycroft. I AM a doctor." John sighed.

"Nevertheless, counselling for you has run its particular course-"

"Says who?"

"Says me, Doctor." 

"Based on...?"

"The fact that you keep not only putting my brother in constant danger but bring forward in him certain....emotions." he spat the last word out like he was looking at a festering pimple.

"You mean he cares so much for me he cries sometimes." John said.

"Quite. Take the drugs Doctor Watson."

"The anti psychotics." John said

"You know what I mean Doctor."

"The clue is in the title. ANTI psychotic." John smiled. "As I am not psychotic, to take something that negates it seems a waste of time."

"Oh do be reasonable John, you imagine you have other people living inside you." Mycroft sneered.

"I imagine no such thing." John said, face reddening.

"John, you are quite obviously disturbed to a great degree and I will not have you drag my brother-" he suddenly stopped. Johns eyes had rolled in his head and he was slumped forward. "Doctor Watson...?"

John lifted his head and Mycroft was fascinated to see the mans eyes were strangely a deeper blue.

"Mycroft. I would like to say it is a pleasure to meet you, but I would be lying." 

Johns voice was deeper, and softer.

"John, that is not amusing."

"Hamish, Mycroft. Not John." Hamish smiled at Mycroft as if he had drawn a pretty picture of a kitty for the 'fridge.

"John, this sort of thing seems beneath even you." Mycroft sniffed.

"Oh Mycroft, you really are a piece of work." Hamish snorted. "Who the hell gives you the right to tell John not only what to do, but what he IS?"

"John-"

"It is HAMISH you buttoned up, sanctimonious pathetic excuse for man."

"Remember who you are talking to Doctor."

Hamish laughed.

"Mycroft, I will speak slowly for you, okay?" Hamish lent forward. "I.Am.Not.John."

"You bare a striking similarity to him."

"Did you expect me to morph into another face Mycroft, like a shapeshifter?" Hamish guffawed. Mycrofts face reddened. "That's not what we are. We are John shaped. But we are not all John."

Mycroft sat still, thinking.

"Thats better Mycroft. Stopping to think is a good thing. Especially for a supposed genius. Jumping to conclusions seems a very stupid thing to do."

"John-"

"HAMISH, you sad little man."

"Very well, Hamish." Mycroft coughed."The drugs will help keep you stable"

"Define stability." Hamish said. "Is it riding around in darkened cars, accosting people in the street, controlling the cameras in Greater London and carrying an umbrella even when there is not threat of rain?"

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow. "It is hardly pretending to be a myriad of people just to get by day to day."

"Mycroft. That is a very narrow view of Johns disorder." Hamish sighed. "He is not pretending. I am real. And I am a completely different person to John. I am an aspect of him that splintered off during a major trauma. If I had not appeared the entity you now as John would have ceased to function."

"Then the drugs may help put you together again."

This time Hamish barked out a huge laugh.

"Been there Mycroft. It was the first thing your brother wanted to do. Remember the hypnotism?"

"A fools errand."

"We see eye to eye at last." Hamish said. "A fools erred indeed. Mycroft, weather you agree or not, John cannot be put back together. Even if you insist. Even if you throw money at it, threaten, kidnap, cajole, or kill TheBody. John does not work without all of us helping him."

"I will not kill you."

"My God Mycroft, what is it like in your world? Is it filled with boring men in total control at all times? The simple fact, and for some reason, it seems beyond the great Mycroft Holmes' massive reasoning to grasp, is that this is who John IS. Why can you not get that Mycroft? Does it not sit with your world view? Do crazy people mean less to you than others? Or do you find the fact that your brother has fallen in love with someone not in your list of reasonable partners so odd a concept that it grates on your very soul?"

"Nothing so deep...Hamish. What I really want to do is silence all of the people inside John and make sure he is an even and sensible person for my brother."

Hamish laughed again.

"Mycroft, you simply don't have the right." he said. "You have the resources, granted. But you just do not have the right."

"Who are you to tell me-"

Hamish was across the car and had his arm up in Mycrofts throat in less than a heartbeat. Mycroft was so taken aback he merely froze.

"Mycroft, you are so used to all the little people running around for you like robotic little ants." Hamish said. "It must rile you something terrible when John Watson refuses to bend to your will. And, just as John will not, nether will any of his Alters."

"Unhand me, Doctor Watson." Mycroft twisted Hamishs' arm and flung The Alter back into his seat. 

The Alter oofed out a hard breath, and cradled his arm to his chest.

"Calling me Doctor Watson does not make me Doctor Watson." Hamish said "But physically harming me will show up on John. I would not want to try and explain that to Sherlock. Back OFF Mister Holmes. Let John and Sherlock work this situation themselves. They can do it. Trust them."

Hamish softened his tone.

"Let them do this on their own." 

Mycroft was silent, staring at Hamish. Hamishs eyes fluttered, and then his body slumped slightly. Mycroft knew he was looking at John again.

"Uh...Mycroft..." John blinked. "Uh..."

"I met Hamish." Mycroft commented.

"Oh." John said, and rubbed his forehead. "Did he hurt you?"

"Is he likely to?"

"Verbally, yeah." John sighed. "He's way smarter than me, apparently. Is he the...only one you met just now?"

"Yes. Am I to expect more?"

"My arm hurts. I assumed Fury came out." John flexed his hand. "Although you would not be so...upright, if he had."

"Doctor Watson I am going to drop you home."

"Uh I was going to Tescos. I need milk."

"We are already here Docor Watson."

"So what was this whole trip in aid of Mycroft?" John asked.

"I was convinced I could get you to take the drugs if I...applied the right incentives. It turns out I am outnumbered in this." Mycroft looked away, into his reflection in the glazed car window. "Hamish....made a convincing argument."

"He does that. He is very good." John nodded. 

The car stopped and Mycroft opened the door.

"Good day, Doctor Watson."

"Yeah, okay Mycroft." John said, and stepped from the car.

Only to be shoved roughly out of the way as a furious Belstaffed whirlwind flew past him and launched itself at Mycroft.

"You bastard Mycroft, did you make a deal with John!"

"Sherlock, unhand me!" came Mycrofts angry voice. 

"An offer he better not refuse Mycroft, is that it?"

"Sherlock, her your hands off me!"

"If you ever take John from the street again I will strangle you in your sleep!" 

John jumped back in the car and tried to separate the brothers.

"Mycroft, Sherlock, grow up!" He yelled, pulling on any arm he could get a hold of.

"Sherlock don't make me get Roger, he does so hate putting the car in park." Mycroft threatened, trying to peel his brothers fingers from his throat.

"Mycroft, just leave John alone. Don't you get it? I love him just as he is, you cannot make him any better, he's fucking PERFECT!!"

John stopped tugging an arm.

"Wait, I'm perfect..?" 

Sherlock stopped strangling his brother to stare at John.

"You are, John...." Sherlock said. "You are...."

"Sherlock..." John whispered. 

"Yes...?"

"Stop choking your brother and kiss me."

#


	36. KEEP CALM AND....HI THERE!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the Alters come out to play, and Flirt finds a hunky Captain to bat his eyes at.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 36: KEEP CALM AND....HI THERE!

The next few weeks proved to be very much back to normal for the Baker street blokes.

Arguments over body parts, or more where they were situated rather than the parts themselves, tea making, lovemaking, Dr Who nights.

Solving cases, irritating Anderson (which was getting so easy now it kind of took all the fun out of it), running all over London.

Fury kicked the door in on a flat a vile kidnapper had held Sherlock captive in for a total of 45 minutes. Fury explained that "SWAT were taking too long."

Flirt managed to apologise to Dimmock for the alley thing and still give the poor man a hard on he had to sit at a desk to hide.

Hamish outsmarted a chess champion in a game that was pivotal in solving a case. He also gave Sherlock a spectacular blow job one afternoon in the public library.

Sherlock found it was nice to see The Alters out as regular guys. John also seemed happier because there was no real battle to keep the Alters hidden. Most people seemed to assume John was quirky and left it at that.

"Txt from Lestrade." Sherlock said late one afternoon, and John found himself travelling to New Scotland Yard in a cab.

"What does he want this time?"

"I suspect to invite us to his birthday party." 

"How did you-"

"I know when his birthday is John, and it is a significant one. And, Mycroft already told me."

John snorted. He still had not warmed entirely to Mycroft.

The Yard was crowded. There had been a gang of art thieves caught. A large gang of art thieves. There were lawyers and family and cops all over the place.

A harried Lestrade waved them through the crowd. As they battled through John felt a hand on his arse. The hand then squeezed. John swung around to see a tall man in a coat almost as spectacular as Sherlocks.

"Hi there." the man said in a rough American accent, grinning and twinkling at him.

"John, come on!" Sherlock called, tugging John away from the man with the chin cleft and sparkling eyes.

When Lestrade closed the door to his office silence descended. Greg sighed in appreciation.

"Damn mad house out there." he said, then sat great fully at his desk.

"So, how are you Greg?" John asked.

"Still having intercourse with my brother?" Sherlock asked blandly.

"Yes, I am Sherlock. Last night we tried my handcuffs-"

"No!" Sherlock put his hand up in a stop signal, and both John and Lestrade chuckled.

"Just invite us to your party so we can refuse and get back home." Sherlock hurumphed.

"But Sherlock I would like to go." John said.

"It is going to be huge." Lestrade said. "I am inviting everyone."

"Not interested." Sherlock insisted.

"I am, Sherlock." John also insisted.

"It's dress ups." Lestrade said then, and waggled his eyebrows.

John smiled.

"We're coming, when is it?" 

"Saturday night."

"John, no, I refuse to wear a costume!" Sherlock protested.

"Nonsense, I have the perfect outfit for you."

"No, John."

"No sex for a week."

"John, that is unusually cruel!"

"We'll be there." John said, standing and grabbing Sherlocks hand.

"See you both Saturday. Cannot wait to see what you end up wearing Sherlock...."

"Shut up Lestrade!"

John dragged Sherlock back through the throng until Sherlock pulled John up.

"John I really do not want to get dressed up for a party!"

"You know how I threatened you with no sex for a week?"

"Yes, John. Childish."

John reached up to whisper in Sherlocks ear:

"You wear what I have planned and I will fuck you so hard and for so long you will not be able to stand for a week."

Sherlock shivered. Johns breath in his ear, the words he used, changed his mind completely.

"As long as it is not a cat costume." Sherlock whispered back.

"You would look adorable in cat ears." John giggled.

"Mister Holmes, can I see you for a minute please?" Dimmock called from over at his desk. As Sherlock made his way over, John felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see that American in the grey coat smiling at him again.

"Hi, I didn't get your name." the man said, eyes twinkling.

"John. John Watson." John put out his hand. The man shook it, his hand strong and warm.

"Captain Jack Harkness." the man said, still smiling. There was something about him, something strange and...

"What's a tall drink of water doing here in out little Yard?" Flirt asked, shining his eyes up at Jack.

"I am tracking down some angel statues. Some of these thieves have dealt in them before." Captain Jack explained.

"Oh, you like angels?" Flirt looked under his lashes at Jack.

"I do." Jack insisted, and winked.

"I have been told I have the VOICE of an angel." Flirt told the captain.

"Oh?" Jack grinned. "When you sing, or when you are in the throes of-"

"Flirt!" Sherlock spat as he slid to Flirts side. He grabbed Flirts arm and began to hustle him away from Captain Jack.

"Call me!" Flirt called to Jack, who saluted.

"God Damn it Flirt, can you not keep it in your pants for one hour?"

"Oh but Sherlock, tell me you would not want to see me all over a big hunky American like him." 

"Flirt-"

"I'd let you film us."

"Get outside now!"

"Mm hmm, yes SIR!"

"God...Flirt...stop it!"

"Kiss me...."

Sherlock paused, then crashed his lips to Flirts and tongue-fucked the filthy life out of his mouth until the sound of applause brought them up for air.

#


	37. YEAH BABY!!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrades dress up party.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 37: YEAH BABY!!!!

"I am pretty sure these jodhpurs are illegal in seventeen countries." Sherlock hissed as he and John got out of the cab at the ballroom Lestrade had hired for his party.

"Sweetie you look fabulous." John insisted, and smacked Sherlock on his pert arse.

Music and lights blared and flashed from the doorway of the ballroom. People milled about outside smoking. John saw a few Margaret Thatchers, a Lincoln, some tellytubbies, and about eight Elvii (plural of Elvis),

Sherlock saw Lestrade at the top of the stairs. 

"Oh, is this his drug dealer look?" John asked Sherlock. Lestrade was indeed in the same costume he wore to sell Sherlock drugs when he was with Brandon. "Is that...EYELINER?"

"It is." Sherlock huffed.

"Oh hello John, Sherlock. The fuck are you two?"

John was in a dapper grey suit with a fake shoulder holster under the jacket, he stood tall, side on, and intoned:

"Bond, James Bond." 

"Nice one." Lestrade laughed, then turned to Sherlock. He took in the tight joddies, white shirt unbuttoned to a filthy level, shiny knee high boots, crop and a fitted jacket. 

"D'arcy. From Pride and Prejudice." Sherlock said.

"Since when did he carry a crop?" Lestrade asked.

"John likes to read erotica apparently." Sherlock deadpanned and John grinned like a cat that ate a canary.

"John, you pervert." Lestrade said as a tall lady in a velvet frock handed him a drink. "Oh thanks sweetheart." he said, and pecked the lady on the cheek.

"Oh my God...." John gasped. He took in the frock, the carpet bag and the black umbrella. "Mycroft, you look..."

"In you come John and Sherlock, spit spot." Mycroft said in an even posher accent than his usual one. 

Mycroft Holmes had come to his boyfriends party as Mary Poppins. 

"It is the only way I could get him to come. He didn't want to leave his umbrella." Lestrade stage whispered.

Once inside Sherlock slid the crop into his riding boot and they made way over the crowded dance floor to the open bar. Tom Baker Doctor Who nodded to them and it was only by squinting John realised it was Sally Donovan. He smiled.

"Nice costume." he commented and she thanked him, her nod almost disappearing in the vast scarf she wore. She was with Captain Kirk who kissed her and dragged her off to dance.

Over the way John saw a T-Rex and instinct told him it was Anderson. Next to him was Dimmock who was in a brown trench coat and blue silk tie like Castiel from Supernatural.

Sherlock handed John a beer and had a rum and coke for himself. 

"Not a bad little turn out." John commented. Sherlock yelped as Spike from Buffy grabbed his arse.

"Hello beautiful." a very fake English accent said. "'ows about we suck each uvers...blud?"

"Erm-" Sherlock said. "No?"

"Oh come on." Spike now had an American accent. "It's me, Captain Jack."

John could see it now, despite the now blonde hair. Same twinkling eyes and cleft chin.

"You put the moves on my boyfriend." Sherlock said, trying in vain to move Jacks hands from his tight jodphured arse. 

"He liked it." Jack said, and winked at John. Then John twigged.

"Fuuuuuuck, I Flirted, didn't I?" he asked, the capital eff on flirt heard only by himself and Sherlock. 

"You sure did sweetheart." Jack said, and winked again.

"Please get your hand off my boyfriends arse Spike." John said then, but he was smiling. Jack Harkness seemed fun and cute but harmless. Did not set off his creep-o-meter. Jack reluctantly unhanded Sherlocks perfect globes. 

"Later, you two." he promised and sauntered off. John was smiling.

"What..oh John really?" Sherlock scoffed. "It's bad enough that Flirt wants him, but you too?"

"The heart wants what the heart wants Sherlock."

"Heart? I think you mean lower down Doctor." Sherlock sniffed.

"Let's find a table." John said. They moved off and found a table close to the dance floor. The music was quite thumpy, and John recognised a few of the tunes, by Lestrade had obscure taste. "Would you dance with me Mister D'arcy?"

"No." Sherlock said.

"Hey baby, I will dance with you!" 

John looked up to see Austin Powers, shaggy hair, big teeth, velvet jacket and all. His eyes were ice blue behind the thick black rimmed glasses.

"Oh be HAYVE!" John smiled. He cocked his head at Sherlock who nodded, so he took Austins hand and they went out onto the dance floor.

A French Maid slid into Johns spot and pouted at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded and then did a dramatic double take. Long long legs in black stilettos, thigh high stockings, little pouffy black frock with white lace petticoat, tiny hat. Shiny black hair. 

"Good God..." Sherlock nearly swallowed his own tongue. "Quintin!"

"Clean your pipes Sir?" Quintin smiled.

"So Austin Powers...?" Sherlock looked over to the dance floor.

John was now wrapped in Austin's arms, Austin's lips to his ear.

"Bond, James Bond." the International Man Of Mystery whispered.

"Powers, Austin-"

"No, I mean, yes, you are dressed as Bond but I am actually Bond...."

"What....OH! Bloody hell, double oh seven!!!" John said excitedly.

"Yeah Baby!" Bond did a very good Powers impersonation, and spun John around before drawing him back in. John laughed and hoped Flirt would stay inside because John was really enjoying James Bonds attention. 

"I didn't know you knew Lestrade." John said, as Bond crushed him to his velvet-clad chest.

"Only through Mycroft. Lestrade does not know who we are."

"We?"

"Yes, Quintin is here. Flirting with his older brother. You know him as your sweetie."

John looked over and saw an exquisite thin French Maid making Sherlock blush to the very tip of his ears. John knew he shouldn't but he laughed.

"Holmes brothers." he shook his head.

"God help us." Bond agreed.

James swung the lovely doctor out and back in again until he was tapped on the shoulder. Bond bowed out.

"Mister D'arcy." he said, and Sherlock nodded, stepping into the welcome circle of Johns arms.

Bond was accosted by Spike as he made his way back to Maid Quintin. Spike grabbed Austin Powers by the hands and twinkled.

"Well hi there!" came the enthusiastic American accent.

John rolled his eyes.

"How about we skip this party, go back home, and play nudie prod games?" he whispered into Sherlocks ear.

"Oh Mister BOND!" Sherlock batted his eyes dramatically.

"No, I am Squire Watson, and you are my stable boy, come to knobble my horses. I'll use the crop on you, if you are really bad."

"Don't tease me." Sherlock whispered. "You know I want that from you John."

"I know you get off on pain. And who better than me, who loves you, to smack that gorgeous arse of yours in these stunning joddies?"

"No-one but you John, only you." Sherlock made this sound like a promise he was desperate to keep and it did wibbly things to Johns knees. 

"Come on then, let's go...." he said into Sherlocks hot mouth before he was kissed by him passionately.

"Is this the longest you have ever stayed at a work party?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered. "Considering it is the first one I ever attended."

John laughed.

"Let's go Sherlock, I wanna do filthy things to you."

"Is sex all you want me for?"

"Yes Sherlock. Sex and constant deadly peril."

"Why not play Bond for me?"

"Don't be silly, I have had Bonds lips on me....TWICE! I could never do Bond better than Bond. You have seen the man. I am just not..." he sighed "enough..."

"Christ John, you are for me." Sherlock said.

"Well, that's all that matters to me, Sherlock."

#


	38. PRIDE AND EXTREME PREJUDICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dirty fantasy Role Play sex between John and Sherlock after Lestrades party

COTILLION

CHAPTER 38: PRIDE AND EXTREME PREJUDICE

Watson stealthily slid up to his stable door and pressed his back to the wall beside it. He could hear a horse wickering and a deep voice soothing it. The lights were low and yellow and the stable smells fresh. The stable lads had changed the flooring, fed and watered and bed the horses down for the night. 

So who was here?

Watson took a quick look in, absent-mindedly feeling for the gun he neglected to slide into his shoulder holster. He cursed silently when he saw a tall dark haired man in joddies and a white shirt stroking the neck of his favourite horse.

Well, that was not on.

Watson slipped inside and made his way forward, silent as a ghost. Then, when the man had his back to Watson, Watson made his move.

He jumped into the stable and was on the blokes back, arm around his throat, in two seconds flat. The taller man grabbed Watsons arm as it tightened around his swan neck.

"The fuck are you doing in my stables you fuck?"

The man could not really answer, his throat being so compromised. But he did kind of croak and drop to his knees. So, result there. His mare whinnied a bit and stamped, but settled straight away.

With his other arm Watson reached for and found a lunge rope. He managed to shove the man onto his front, flip him and tie his hands before the man could regain his breath.He had done it borrow, but with calves, not humans.

The man beneath him was wheezing now, great fully dragging in lungs full of fresh clear air. His eyes were watering and his neck pulse was pounding. He feebly pushed at Watson with his bound hands, so Watson pinned them above the mans raven hair. 

"Please, please...." he began to beg, and then hacked through a raspy throat. Watson laid his full weight over the intruder and, with the hand not pinning down the mans tied wrists, he dug his fingertips into the mans jaw. Despite being an intruder, Watson found himself quite drawn to the body beneath him. He was extraordinarily attractive, with his pale skin, doe eyes and beautiful hair.

"What were you doing to my horse?"

"Wasn't going to hurt her..." 

"That so?" Watson said. "You got a name?"

The man was silent, eyes rolling, trying to stare at Watson because his head was held completely still by Watsons fingers.

"I SAID-" Watson shook the mans head, and he hissed in pain. "Do you have a name?

"Lackie." he said finally. "My name is Lackie."

"Well, Lackie. I think you were interfering with my prize mare." Watson said. "So now, I get to interfere with you."

"No, no, I didn't do anything!" Lackie insisted, struggling uselessly under Watsons strength. Watson chuckled, and then pushed his mouth to the thundering pulse in Lackies neck. Lackie struggled a little more until he felt the teeth in his neck. "No..."

Watson chuckled into Lackies skin, and then licked where he had bitten. "You taste nice." he said. Lackie whimpered, so Watson licked him again and laughed as the man shivvered.

"Please don't touch me." Lackie whispered.

"Oh but you are so delectable...." Watson insisted and began to lay kisses all over the perfect neck below him.

"Stop!" Lackie insisted but, in struggling, forced his throat into Watsons mouth. Watson moaned and Lackie froze. 

"No no, keep struggling, I love it..." Watson said and Lackie made a sound like a sob. Watson worked his mouth to Lackies Adams apple and then up to his lips. He grinned and then kissed Lackie. Lackies mouth stayed closed until Watson twisted Lackies nipple over his shirt.

The man gasped and Watson thrust his tongue into the opening. He proceeded to kiss Lackie roughly and was thrilled when Lackie responded. Positively.

As he thrust his tongue inside him, the lithe man beneath him curved up, and twined his tongue around Watsons languidly. Watson responded by thrusting his hips down, just once, and was rewarded with the up thrust of Lackies own hips.

"You like it a bit rough Lackie?" Watson laughed, and deepened both the kiss and the body beneath him groaned softly. "Oh...rougher?" 

Watson pressed down on the wrists tied above Lackies head and put his other hand back on the nipple he had just twisted. He then spent quite some time drawing out sighs and hisses and bit out yelps of pain from the increasingly hot and bothered Lackie. Then he spent a similar amount of time on the other nipple doing similar painful and wonderful things.

"I like how pain makes you smell." Watson whispered, looking down at Lackies kiss red lips and half lidded eyes. And he did smell wonderful, hot and frustrated.

"Please, stop, I need...I want..." Lachie was whispering from a mouth so lush Watson was quite distracted.

"Oh I know what you want." he said in a low voice, trailing his hand slowly down Lackies body to cup his hard cock, outlined beautifully in those tight jodhpurs. He rubbed it with his flat hand and Lackie shuddered and flexed, fluttering his eyes closed. Watson laughed low and included the cupping of Lackies balls in his long strokes. Lackies thighs parted and Watson laughed again.

"Oh you little slut." 

"Don't touch me there please..." Lackie whispered, arching into Watsons hand. "Please, stop..."

"No, I don't think I will, not when you arch up so pretty for my hand." Watson put his lips back to Lackies neck and began to bite the skin there quite hard. Lackie moaned and shivered.

"Please don't...don't hurt me..." oh but once again he shoved his throat into Watsons teeth. the squire bit harder, leading dents and sucking purple blood to the surface. Lackie moaned louder. "Oh God..please, stop, that hurts me..."

Watson took a chance and let go of Lackies wrists to prop himself up and trail hot painful kisses down Lackies neck and chest. He used his teeth on Lackies nipples and the poor boy hissed and sobbed and begged Watson to stop but made no move to wiggle away.

Lackies booted leg dragged up so he could widen his knees and Watsons hand brushed the handle of the crop he had shoved down the side of the footware. Watson dragged the weapon out slowly and he got a lovely idea.

He sat up, shoved Lackies leg back down and straddled the mans hips. When the cold leather tip touched Lachies cheek his eyes flew open. He swivelled his eyes to the crop. And then up to Watsons face.

"No...no! Not that!" Lachie begged, bringing his bound wrists down to protect his chest.

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because it will hurt me!"

"Oh dear..." Watson lunged to his feet. "On your hands and elbows." he demanded, and when Lackie just stared, Watson helped the man to flip over by putting his boot to his ribs and pushing.

Once Lackie was on his knees and elbows, his arse presented in the air, bobbing as Lackie attempted to crawl away. Watson smiled and followed close behind. He aimed a few hard smacks with the crop on each globe. Lackie yelped and crawled faster, but Watson was nimble on two feet while Lackie was hindered by his bound wrists.

"Please, no, that hurts me!" Lackie cried, and shuddered as Watson landed a few more straight smacks to Lackies jodphur-clad arse. 

"I know it hurts baby, but I think you love it."

"No, please stop!" Lackie begged, finally reaching a wall and curling up next to it. Watson pulled Lackie up by the wrists and hung them on a hook. He spun the man around by his hips to face the wall, then pulled him out a bit and kicked his feet apart.

"Now be good." Watson whispered, and ran his hand down Lackies back. "Take want I give you and I can give you more."

Lachies response was to whine and drop his head, his fringe falling forward.

Watson started quite softly and slowly but built up to stronger strikes until Lackie was hissing and dancing, pulling on the rope at his wrists and moaning between each strike. Watson broke his stride every now and then to run his hands over the jodphurs and feel the heat straining through them. 

A final set of blows brought Lackie, moaning brokenly, to his knees, hanging by his roped wrists. He swayed, eyes moist, lips panting in pain and cock hard with pleasure. Watson dropped the crop, unhooked Lackies wrists and hauled him to his feet to kiss him deeply. Lachie opened his mouth and moaned, letting Watson in completely, pliant to Watsons need.

"I think you need a good hard fuck Lachie." Watson announced and Lachie shook his head.

"No, please, don't be filthy with me..." Lackie protested, tipping his head back again so Watson could claim his hot mouth in another searing kiss. Watson plunged his tongue in deeply, causing Lachlans moans to deepen and his whole body leaned towards Watsons heat.

Watson flung Lachie into the hay and followed him, using his weight to pin the man down. He roughly tugged at Lackies jodphurs, sliding them down Laxhies long legs. He only slid them off one leg, leaving both boots on. He slid between Lackies thighs, unzipping his trousers and pulling out his own hot, hard cock. Using just his spit and Lackies precome he barely prepared Lackies tight pucker before nudging the head of his cock to it.

"Please, don't do this to me!"

"Sh sh shhhhh..." Watson crooned, covering Lackies lips and kissing him as he breached the mans tight entrance. Lachies hitched his hips, moaned into Watsons mouth and dropped his thighs wider to allow Watson better access.

No, no no, please don't..." Lachie whispered, and gasped in sudden wordless pleasure as Watson sank into him. Watson paused, panting, fringe covering his eyes as he looked down between their bodies. The sight of his hard cock inside Lackie made Watson dizzy.

"Oh you are so perfect...."

"Please, get out of me, it hurts..." Lachie whispered, eyes all pupil with lust. He lifted his hips in invitation for Watson to start moving, and Watson did so. Slowly, gently, just a little, he thrust in and out of Lachies hot hole.Lachie threw his head back, allowing Watson to suck and kiss and bit his throat as he took his arse.

"Oh you little whore.."

"Please, that's too rough, oh it hurts, it hurts, please please stop it..." Lachie moaned, lifting his hips harder to encourage Watson to take him deeper. Watson took the invitation and ran with it. He began to plunge in and out harder, using his whole length. He lifted Lachies thighs up so the man beneath him was spread wider, his dusky hole accepting the new battering with ease.

Watson began to growl as heat coiled inside his gut. He screwed his eyes shut and let loose, pounding Lachie into the hay, making his whole body shudder with the force of the thrusts.

"Stop stop stop it hurts, why are you doing this to me?" Lachie begged. "Why are you taking me so deep, fucking me so hard? Please, pull your hot cock out of me, stop this..."

"Oh Lachie Lachie shush, you will make me come, I cannot resist you...." Watson gasped, hips beginning to stutter as his orgasm built.

"Watson, please, stop..." Lachie begged brokenly and suddenly he was coming, crying out insensible words, clenching his hole around Watsons cock in such a rhythmic way that seconds later Watson followed him into a breathtaking orgasm that had him gasping and shuddering and swearing. He saw nothing but fireworks until he shuddered to a close and fell, boneless, onto Lachies chest. 

#

"Christ Sherlock, I am writing this one down...

"Doctor Watson, I must say, you take roleplay very seriously."

"I do indeed..."

"Let's go have a shower."

"I can't walk."

"Allow me to hurry you along with this crop, Doctor..."

"Don't you dare...."

#


	39. SLEEPINGJOHN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, what the hell is wrong with TheAlters now?????

COTILLION

CHAPTER 39: SLEEPINGJOHN

Sherlock stumbled into the lounge room and came across SleepingJohn, hugging himself and rocking gently.

"SleepingJohn."Sherlock said quietly. SleepingJohn turned his white eyes to Sherlock. "Are you okay?"

"TheBody is confused."

"What about?" Sherlock moved further into the room, yawning and scuffing the back of his head.

A pause.

"He says he does not know what to do."

"Wait, HAMISH does not know what to do?"

A pause.

"He says yes, as hard as that is to believe, he does not know what to do." 

A pause. 

"He says not to laugh."

"I am not laughing." Sherlock assured the Alter. "What is he particularly confused about?"

A pause. Lots of rocking.

"He says he is feeling strange."

"How so?"

SleepingJohn turned again to face Sherlock. "We are all feeling strange."

Sherlock stood stock still. What was happening?

"Describe these feelings." he demanded.

"We have pain."

"Where?" Sherlock bit down on his panic.

"In our chest. In our head." 

A pause

"We all feel it."

Sherlocks mind was racing. Was John having a heart attack? An aneurism? Leukaemia?

"All of you, even Robin?"

A pause. A nod.

"All of us."

A pause.

"He says to say his heart is...bigger, like it is...full...but not with blood, with..."

A pause.

"He says to say it is filled with feeling."

Sherlocks racing mind paused. Feeling? Those could be bad, but rarely deadly.

"This feeling...does it make you all feel...good?" he asked.

A pause.

A nod.

"And your head...?" Sherlock asked, voice softening.

A pause.

"Thinking always."

"About?"

A pause. 

"You, Sherlock. Always you. We think about your face, your eyes, the graceful way you walk, the way your cheeks get red when you are angry and pink when you are under us. Your swooshy coat, the way you run, how you laugh with us over something silly, how you pretend not like Doctor Who but will watch it with us to make us happy. Always Sherlock, you are on our mind always."

Sherlock visibly relaxed.

"Oh you silly bunch of Alters." he smiled. "You are not sick. I have the same symptoms only my brain is filled with all of you. I have a whole wing of my mind palace for you."

"Then what..what is wrong with us?" the poor Alter asked in a small voice.

"Nothing. Well, nothing too vexing." Sherlock gently put his arms around Sleeping John, and was mildly surprised the Alter let him. He kissed SleepingJohn on the top of his head.

"You are just as madly in love with me as I am with you."

#

THE  
N  
D  
_____________________________________________________________________

That's where this particular adventure ends, apart from an epilogue, details of that below.

I have another adventure in this 'Verse with Sherlock and John and his Alters coming up. It is another disconcerting adventure into the complex psyche of le human brain, but not Johns this time. Some other people with a sick sick obsession...

HOWEVER, I am sure you have questions for the Alters. If you leave them in comments, the Alters will answer as many as they can in the next chapter.

Thanking you in advance;

SleepingJohn  
UnderJohn  
Hamish,  
Flirt  
TheFuryandtheFear  
Robin  
John and Sherlock.

________________________________________________________________________

And Queenoftheuniverse of course :-D

________________________________________________________________________


	40. INSIDE THE ALTERS STUDIO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions and answers with Johns Alters.

COTILLION

CHAPTER 40: INSIDE THE ALTERS STUDIO

PART ONE

Question for Fury:If Sherlock didn't exist would would have agreed to sex with Jim?

FURY: AGREEING to having sex and HAVING sex are two different things. I will do anything to keep TheBody safe. It is what I was created to do. Fucking Moriarty would be no worse than shooting that bastard Da. Actually, knowing how passionate that sick fuck of a Consulting Criminal can be, it would probably bit a bit more pleasant than Da's brains on my shirt.

Question for Flirt: Do you only flirt to make Sherlock jealous or are you hoping that he will agree to share you for at least a night ?

FLIRT: Oh sweetness, I flirt cos that's what I do. If it makes TheBody jealous, it just means I am doing my job right, getting his attention. Hee Hee. But just between you me and the handcuffs on the bedpost, if Sherlock wanted to share our bed with someone, say...Dishy Lestrade or Hunky Bond, I would be on my back with my pants off before anyone could say "Pass the Lubricant."

Fury: Not really a question, I just love my firecracker!!!

FURY: I am growing to love that nickname, despite the prick who gave it to me! Thanks for sending me love, love.

Hamish: what is your favourite thing about Sherlock?

HAMISH: Just one thing? That's a really difficult thing to answer. The man is amazing. His intelligence, his grace, his physical beauty, his damn sex voice! Hmm, but one thing? He won't like me telling you so keep it to yourself. He likes to pat us. When we are sleeping or sitting on the couch. He likes to touch us. He's so damn tactile. How's that for cute? 

All alters: How do you all feel about James Bond? 

FLIRT: Oh my god, hubba hubba ~pulls shirt collar away from neck~ now much I would like oil him up and rub him down!

HAMISH: He does a good job protecting this country. Thank God for him. And his Upper Body strength.

THFURYANDTHEFEAR: He and I should team up. We could totally fuck over any sharks with frikkin' lasers on their heads.

ROBIN: I love his cars

SLEEPINGJOHN: TheBody reacts when Bond is near.

FLIRT: You mean, ThePenis gets hard!!!

HAMISH: Flirt, pull your head in.

~FLIRT giggles~

Question for Flirt: If I asked nicely, could we have dinner? (and I mean dinner in the most indecent way possible BTW.)

FLIRT: ~honest to God five minutes of solid giggling and playing with his hair~ 

I would love that! 

~more giggling~ 

But I don't have a thing to wear....

~lil coy eyes~

PART TWO

Fury? If we ask nicely, could he punch out Anderson? :):)

FURY: God, if you fucking insist then :-D Nose, Mouth, Jaw....any preference? Or those fucking stupid teeth?

I'd like to tell Flirt that I think he's too adorable for words and to ask him if he's forgiven Mycroft for being so mean to him and the rest of the Alters.

FLIRT: Hee Hee Hee Hee, thank you, I AM adorable!! And my nipples are THE PERKIEST! As for Mycroft....forgive? Maybe. I think Lastrade is dishy dishy dishy so if he thinks Mycroft is nice enough to shag then...I guess I could cut him some slack.


End file.
